Overtures
by Tikatu
Summary: Personal complications abound as the Tracys and their agents try to secure the secrets of International Rescue. Sequel to Masquerade. TV-verse. WIP.
1. Well, are we ready to roll?

_Author's Note:_ This is the sequel to both _Serendipity_ and _Masquerade_, and starts just a few days after the last chapter of the latter story. _**I recommend that, if you haven't already, you read both stories** **before you start **Overtures **as there are incidents from both which will not be elaborated upon here. **_I hope you will find this fiction as enjoyable and full of twists as were its predecessors. My thanks to Hobbeth for her betareading skills.

Now for those who reviewed the end of _Masquerade_:

**FrankieC:** Thanks for the ovation! I hope this next story will answer some of your questions.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

_**

* * *

** _

**Overtures:** approaches or suggestions made in order to establish discussions, negotiations, agreements or relationships.

* * *

"And here I'd heard taking care of cats was easier than having a dog," Jeff Tracy quipped, leaning up against the wall in one of the guest bedrooms in the Round House, his arms folded across his chest, and an amused smile on his face.

"You're no help!" Lou Myles complained, pushing up on one side of a square of ceiling tile with a broom handle. The tile tilted sharply and fluffy gray shadow leaped from the one the woman was attacking to another untouched square, her form flashing across an empty bit of ceiling support. Lou heard the cat land with a thump on the safe spot and let out a strangled scream.

Jeff shook his head, chuckling. _Cats! Who would have thought they could be so... difficult to handle. Not me! Not until now. Getting Lou and her "babies" here wasn't exactly easy. _He let his mind drift back to the frustrating time three days ago when he had brought Lucinda Myles and her four cats to his island home.

The first obstacle they encountered was at the Dutchess County Airport in Poughkeepsie. It was the one closest to Lou's home, roughly twenty miles or so and across the Hudson from where she lived. The actual flight from Portland went smoothly, as did storing the corporate jet in one of the hangars. But they had to wait an hour and a half for the rental vehicle that Jeff had ordered, and multi-billionaire Jefferson Tracy was not used to waiting for much of anything anymore. He tried hard to curb his impatience, but it still showed, and even though Lou hadn't commented on the situation, he could tell she wasn't too happy either.

On leaving the airport, she directed him to the park where she had left her van. The van, she insisted, had to go back to her place and be secured in the garage, an idea he agreed with wholeheartedly. But this meant she had to drive it home herself with Jeff trying to keep up with her. _I don't remember her driving this fast in Asheville! And she dared complain about **my** driving on the Parkway!_

Once they were at her place, Jeff poked around the new place while she packed her two suitcases, one garment, and one travel bag. It was nice, he had to admit, to see a woman who could pare things down to the bare essentials. Memories of Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward's usual huge collection of bags made him appreciate Lou's relative frugality. But what Lou knew, as Jeff did not, was that there would be four cat carriers to add to her luggage, all to be secured within the jet's pressurized cabin.

After pulling the carriers from their respective storage spots, Lou explained that she had to dose each cat with sedative. Jeff offered to help by holding the cats as she medicated them. Lou raised her eyebrow at him as if to say, "Oh, really?" but she took him up on his offer.

Midnight was easy; the black male squirmed and complained, but Jeff held him firmly and the pill, wrapped in a bit of bologna, went down the first time. Dosing Muffins (Jeff could never get the hang of the cat's cutesy real name) was also a relatively straightforward job. He held the fluffy gray cat to his chest and stroked the soft fur as Lou administered the pill. It was spit out almost immediately, but a second attempt did the trick. Both cats were put right into their carriers, where they began a chorus of complaints in their distinctive voices.

Spot, Jeff's favorite of the four, if truth be told, allowed him to pick her up and stroke her. But her irises got big and black as Lou approached with the bologna-wrapped pill. The skinny tortie knew from experience what was wrapped inside that bit of treat and she spit it out every time, while still managing to eat the bologna. Jeff was quite impressed at how far the feline could project the little sucker. Finally Lou had to resort to a liquid. She told him to tighten his grip as she forced the cat's mouth open and squirted the medication in using an eye dropper. Spot writhed in his arms, and tried to eject the liquid, her tongue working furiously. But it was no use, he held the cat firmly and the medicine went down. He was sure that Spot gave him a look of betrayal as he eased her into her carrier.

"Now for the real challenge: Snowball," Lou said. "Be right back."

Jeff poured himself a glass of water, and sat down at the kitchen table. He recognized it as being new, and as different as could be from the one she had in her little place in Asheville. _I guess I can understand it, _he thought. _That dinette set would have been a nasty reminder of the night we were attacked._ He let out a deep breath through his nose. _I wonder what things will remind her of yesterday?_

Lou came back with his leather bomber jacket and handed it to him. She was wearing a thick, long-sleeved sweatshirt. "Snowball's not fond of being picked up in the first place, unless it's her idea. She shouldn't be able to claw through the leather, though."

He gave her an incredulous look as he donned his jacket. "Are you sure I'm going to need this?"

"Yes," she replied shortly. "You are. Now to find the little darling. Come on."

It took twenty minutes for them to corner Snowball in one of the guest rooms upstairs, and another ten to grab her. Lou got one hand under the white cat's abdomen and took firm hold of her hind feet with the other. "I'll carry her downstairs then hand her over to you. This wouldn't be so difficult if I hadn't just taken her to the vet the other day."

Jeff followed her downstairs, watching as she stroked the cat smoothly and rhythmically, whispering soft words in an attempt to calm and soothe. Still, the white one struggled against her firm hold.

They came to the kitchen, and Lou turned to hand Snowball to him. "Take her hind feet and hold them very firmly..."

She didn't get any further because Snowball exploded into action. Jeff had managed to get an arm around the cat, and threw the other over her for good measure, but the white feline twisted and turned in his grasp, squirming and kicking out with her hind feet. She yowled in his ear, putting her front paws on his shoulder and digging in with her claws. It was like trying to hold a dozen cats at once. "Lou!" he hollered. "I can't hold her much longer!"

The cat's head ducked and bobbed as Lou tried to grab it. "Just don't let go!" she called back, her eyedropper in one hand. Finally she managed to grab the scruff of Snowball's neck with one hand and move the other hand up to hold the still writhing head, letting go of the scruff once she had a firm grip on the head. She put her thumb and forefinger along hinge of the jaw and pressed, hoping to open the mouth. "Open up, Snowy. Just a little bit!" she coaxed through gritted teeth.

"OW!" Jeff bellowed as a set of the claws in his shoulder shifted to rake his neck. "LUCINDA! HURRY _UP_!"

"Don't let go! I've almost... there!" The cat's pink tongue worked against the liquid as Spot's had, but she was well and truly medicated. Lou grabbed her from Jeff and shoved her straight into her case. "Now, go to sleep like a good kitty and don't poop in there!"

Jeff put his hand up to his neck and came away with a smear of blood. "Damn!" he said. "That smarts!"

"I'm sorry, Jeff," Lou said apologetically. "But I didn't think _you'd _want to try and give her the medicine. Let me clean those scratches so they don't get infected," she said.

While she helped him clean his war wounds, she asked, "Are you sure you want to bring them to the island? I mean, Jadzia would..."

"I know she would," he replied, watching in the half bath's mirror as she put a large, flesh toned bandage on the side of his neck. "But you're trying to keep people away from your Cindy Lou persona at the moment. If we take the cats to Asheville, Jadzia will see what you currently look like. Which wouldn't be so bad, except for the fact that her husband is a sheriff's officer and if any kind of bulletin went out looking for you..."

Lou nodded. "I see your point. Josiah would feel obligated to give an updated description." She sighed. "I just hope you know what you're in for here."

"I'm sure we'll be fine," he said, turning to face her and putting a hand on her shoulder. She frowned as she gazed at his neck, and he put his free hand up to it. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing. It's just I've been meaning to ask you something. I was wearing a similar bandage on the back of my hand yesterday and when I woke up, it was gone. Did you take it off?"

"No, Gordon did, as we were preparing you for transport to New York," he said. "He took something out of the middle of the padding, a flat wafer thing..."

"Oh, good!" Lou said in relief as she moved into the kitchen. "I'd hate to lose that. It was part of the transceiver that we were using. Where did he put it?"

"In your black case," Jeff answered. "And before you ask, _that _went on to the island with Scott."

"Great! I'm glad to know it. Oscar's in that thing."

"Well, are we ready to roll?" Jeff asked, looking around at the cases, each of which now held a silent, sleeping feline.

"Not quite."

Jeff had no choice but to swallow his comments as Lou packed up a large canvas bag with four ceramic dishes, and all but two cans of cat food from her cupboards. Next, she dumped all her cat kibble back into its plastic storage bin, emptied the water dispenser and dried it out, gave the kibble dispenser a cursory wipe, then stashed them all in the canvas bag. She pulled two full bags of cat litter into the kitchen and indicated that they were to go, too.While Jeff put these in the car, she cleaned the cat litter boxes and took out the trash. She also took the time to remove the sweatshirt and put on her favorite leather coat. They loaded up the suitcases and the cats, then she had him also load a large, round, gray plastic case into the trunk.

"What's that for?" he asked, wondering if it had anything to do with the cats.

"You'll see," she replied. "I'll just lock up and we'll be ready to leave. But we do have a stop or two to make back on our way back to the airport."

They got in the car, pulled out of her drive, and she directed him down the street and around the corner, pulling up before a house very much like her own, just a little bit more worn.

"Ah'll be rahte back," she said, slipping into her Cindy Lou persona. She went up to the door, rang the bell, and was admitted to the house. A few moments later, she returned with a lanky teenager. Jeff put on his sunglasses as they approached, hoping to obscure his face somewhat. The boy glanced in through the windshield as they got close and frowned to see him behind the wheel. Jeff smiled back at the teen in response.

There was a knocking on his window, and Cindy Lou stood there, smiling. "Would yew please open th' trunk?" she asked sweetly. "An' could yew give Rahy'n heah a hand with th' mowin' robot?"

"Sure... Cindy," he said, just barely remembering her alias as he got out of the car.

"Rahy'n? This is mah friend, Jeff. Jeff, this heah is Rahy'n Pierce. He's gonna be watchin' mah prope'ty an' mowin' th' lawn whahle Ah'm away."

"Nice to meet you... Ryan," Jeff said, finally untangling the boy's name from Cindy Lou's accent. He stuck out his hand, and the teen took it with a desultory grip. The trio moved to the back of the car and the menfolk hauled the mowing robot from the trunk. The case did have wheels on it, and Jeff figured that the boy would have little trouble transporting it up to Lou's house and back.

"Now Rahy'n, heah's yoah money," Cindy Lou said, giving the teen some cash then writing a check for the balance. "Ah have no ideah how long Ah'm gonna be gone, but theyah's enough heah t' covah th' next foah weeks. Ah 'spect yew t' keep an eye on th' prope'ty, pick up th' mail daily, an' mow at least once a week. If'n yew see anythin' out o' ordah, y'all give me a call, y'heah? Heah's mah satellite phone numbah." She handed him a bright orange slip of paper.

"I will, Ms. Kelly," Ryan said. Jeff was pleased to hear the boy address Lou with respect. "Uh, Ms. Kelly? What about Snowball? Do you need someone to look after her?"

Cindy Lou put a hand the teen's lanky shoulder. "That's sech a nahce offah, Rahy'n, but Ah'm takin' her an' th' othah cats with me. Mah friend doesn't mahnd."

"Oh, okay. Can I say goodbye?"

"Shu-ah, sugah! Jeff? Please open th' cah so that Rahy'n can say goodbah t' Snowball?"

Jeff swallowed his retort and obliged. The boy put his hand in the case to stroke the white cat gently. "Ah'm afraid we had t' sedate them foah the trip," she explained.

"I understand." He gave Jeff another pointed glance and said, "You have a good trip, Ms. Kelly. Be_ careful_, okay."

Cindy Lou smiled widely. "Ah will. Oh, an' Rayh'n?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"If'n ol' Miz Hickerson... oah her son... ask wheah Ah've gone, tell 'em from me that's it's none o' theyah _damn_ bizness."

Jeff grinned despite his irritation and Ryan chortled. "I'll do that. Bye, Ms. Kelly. Nice to meet you... uh... Jeff."

"You, too, Ryan."

The teen's presence and obvious distrust of him made Jeff want to be extra gentlemanly, so he opened the car door for Cindy Lou. She thanked him with a gracious incline of her head, and within a few moments they were off. _Finally! _he thought. Curious, he asked, "How'd you meet young Ryan there?"

"Snowball got treed and I asked him to get her down. He's been friendly every since," Lou said, dropping the drawl. "I had made arrangements about the lawn the other day."

"Good call. You need someone to take care of the property, keep up the appearance that someone is there," Jeff said, then paused. "He seems a tad protective."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Lou said in a tone that told him that she had indeed noticed. Jeff snorted.

"One more stop, Jeff."

"What for this time?" he asked, his frustration coming out in his tone.

She had the good grace to sound sympathetic. "Clean litter boxes. I don't think you have any on the island."

Jeff stayed in the car while she shopped and called home to make a few changes to the accommodations. As much as he wanted her close at hand in one of the guest rooms in the main house, it would work far better if she were to stay in the Round House and if a connecting room was cleared for the cats. Virgil looked a bit confused at the instructions his father gave, but he said he'd see to it.

And he had. By the time they arrived on the island, a room had been cleared of furnishings and the cats were let out to explore. Over the past two days, Lou, Scott, and Virgil had been working to put up shelves so the cats could look out the window and a tall cat gym for the cats to climb and play on. When Jeff went down in the evenings to help, he noticed that Spot would retreat to the room's _en suite _bathroom as soon as he arrived. "I don't know if she wants me to follow her in there or if she's running away from me," he commented to Lou.

But the tall cat tree that they had built was the cause of Lou's current problem. Moofums, who liked to climb as high as possible, had found a way to get into the dropped ceiling. Lou had become very concerned when the fluffy cat didn't appear for dinner and was puzzled when she heard the feline's tiny "mew" but couldn't see her. The mystery was solved when Jeff pointed out that one of the acoustic soundproofing tiles was slightly out of place over the top of the climbing post. Lou immediately understood what had happened, and had spent the past hour chasing her cat from square to square, pulling some of the ceiling tiles out in a quest to bring Moofums down.

"Where's a stepladder?" she now asked. "Earth to Jeff!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Lou," he said, shaking himself out of the reminiscence. "What did you ask for?"

"A stepladder."

Jeff was about to reply to her question when his telecomm watched buzzed for attention. "Jeff here."

"We have an emergency, Dad," Scott said.

"F-A-B. I'll be right there." The IR commander was revealed as he said, "I've got to go."

"Go. I'll ask Kyrano."

"No," he replied, glancing up at the ceiling, where a fluffy grey, white and peach colored face looked down at them both. "She can probably get down on her own, Lou. Come with me and see how we do things around here."

Lou also glanced up to the ceiling and sighed. "You're right. She can. I'm coming."

They left the room via the connecting door, through the spacious bedroom that Lou was using. She made sure that door was closed; she had no desire to find the cats in her bed when she returned. It felt odd to her to leave the Round House without locking a door behind her, but then, who was going to break in?

Jeff started the little cart and once again made a mental note for Brains to create something with an antigravity base, like the hover bikes. _This thing jars my teeth with every single bump. Maybe the suspension's gone--if it has one. I could have Kenny look at it. _Lou joined him and together they headed back to the main house, and the latest assignment for International Rescue.


	2. It is a very lovely day

_Author's Note:_ Lady Penelope goes for a ride and so do Scott, Alan and Brains. Plus a short visit to some homicide detectives. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and to Amanda Tracy for helping me with a certain horse name.

Now for those who reviewed the end of _Masquerade _and the prologue _of Overtures_:

**Hobbeth: **Don't know what I'd do without you! Thanks for the compliments on the realism. I'm glad you think so much of the story and have been enjoying it so well!

**Math Girl:** Yes, Jeff and Lou's relationship has changed. To what, we (and they) have yet to discover. Mr. Southern? More about him in this chapter of _Overtures_. As for who the actual killer was, you'll get a little more revelation here, but not much. Thank you for the genuflection! And as you saw, _Overtures_ is well underway! My particular words for this chapter: Woo Hoo!

**Janet Simmons:** Here's the next chapter! As for Moofums, she'll never trust Jeff until he can finally get her name right! ;)

**pepsemaxke:** Thanks for the compliments! What will Penny do with Virgil? Not a lot in this chapter. But more to come.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

"Hello, Mrs. Sullivan," Bryce Southern said politely as he came out to the kitchen. "Is her Ladyship out riding?" 

"Yes, Mr. Southern," Carrie replied. "She left about thirty minutes ago with Valley Mist. Mike could saddle up a mount for you if you like. I think she took the trail up to the overlook again."

"I'll think about it," Southern said, nodding his head. "Thank you very much."

"You're welcome."

Southern walked out of the kitchen, deep in thought. He had come to Bongo-Bongo on the behest of his employer, Interpol, to interview Lady Penelope about her adventures in the Caribbean, with the intent of getting her to admit that the late Peter Riordan was not with her at the time of his demise. He had been chosen as someone whom her Ladyship might perhaps see as less of a threat, playing on the acquaintance he had with her. He had intended to stay only one day, not particularly relishing the thought of interrogating her. But here he was, three days later, and he still hadn't had the chance.

Lady Penelope had been playing the bright, cheery hostess. They had gone horseback riding; she had shown him around the ranch; they had eaten well-prepared meals and had scintillating conversations over dinner. But she had deftly deflected his questions and attempts to turn the talk toward her encounter with the pirates failed one after the other. He had tried to talk to Parker, who was supposed to have been with Lady Penelope at the time, and the faithful servant either ignored his queries or reiterated the story that her Ladyship had given the local constabulary and the press. Bryce Southern was getting frustrated, and the more that her Ladyship deflected him, the more certain he was that there was something being covered up.

Making a decision, he strode out to the barn and asked Mike Sullivan to saddle a mount for him. Mike grinned and pulled out the tack for the black gelding, Midnight Ranger, a horse that Southern was getting well acquainted with. "Hello, Ranger," Southern said as he rubbed the horse's nose. "Ready, old boy?" He mounted the creature as soon as Mike gave him the okay, and together, man and beast trotted out of the barn and set off in the direction Carrie indicated that Penelope had taken.

He found her, a half hour's ride up the trail, sitting on a blanket, looking into her compact. Valley Mist was tethered to a nearby tree, cropping the short wild grass that grew around the small clearing. She looked up sharply when she heard him coming, seemed to say something that he couldn't hear, and closed up the compact. He brought Ranger to a stop and dismounted, tethering his mount to another tree.

"You really don't need that," he said cheerfully, indicating the compact with a motion. "You look fresh as a daisy."

She smiled at him, a forced smile he thought, and slipped the compact into the pocket of her riding jacket. "You say the sweetest things, Mr. Southern," she replied, her tone a touch false to his ear. "What brings you here?"

"Why you, of course," he said, still smiling. He indicated the blanket. "May I join you, Lady Penelope?"

She inclined her head graciously. "Please do."

He sat down on the blanket, turning his body toward her, one leg straight out and the other bent at the knee, propping up his intertwined fingers. "This is such a lovely day, and a lovely place to spend it. Don't you agree?"

"Oh, yes," she replied with a sigh; whether it was a sigh of pleasure or of resignation, he couldn't tell. "It is a very lovely day."

_Well, this is as good a time to broach the subject, I suppose._ "You know, Lady Penelope, as entertaining and enjoyable as I have found these past few days in your company, I did not come here for a social visit. I came to ask you some questions about your experience in the Caribbean. Perhaps... perhaps we could talk about that here, now?"

Penelope's eyes left his face and she stared off into the distance. "I suppose we might, if you insist."

He tried to capture her glance, smiling ruefully. "I'm afraid I must insist."

The aristocrat breathed in and out deeply once, then turned to him. He was surprised at the change in her demeanor and in her voice as she coolly said, "Before we discuss my experience, I should like to know something."

"What is that?" he asked, suddenly unsure of his footing.

"Why hasn't Interpol asked his Excellency what Peter Riordan's blood was doing on his beach?"

xxxx

Jeff returned to his desk after his conversation with Penelope. He was disturbed on many levels. First was the rescue his sons had gone on. Scott, Alan, and Brains were on their way in Thunderbird Three to one of the commercial space stations in a high orbit around the Earth. A pharmaceutical company, trying to devise new treatments for such deadly and virulent diseases such as Ebola, had the bright idea that it would be safer for the public at large if they did their research in space, where such bacteria and viruses would be less likely to infect more than a handful of people, the researchers themselves. The scientists who volunteered to become part of this venture were, for the most part, young, idealistic, adventuresome, and with an eye to the bottom line; the company paid those who went up to the station very handsomely. They were connected by real time televid conferencing with older researchers on Earth, and their results were downloaded several times a day to the computers at the laboratory facilities in Vancouver.

But the company hadn't heard from the researchers that day. Two scheduled downloads and one planned vidconference had passed without word from the station. Knowing that they had a limited amount of time to discover what was going on and no way to effectively launch a rescue of their own within that time frame, they called International Rescue.

"I can't get through to them either, Commander," John informed his father when Jeff appeared on the scene. "I've managed tobounce a visual signal off several communications satellites and this is what I got. It's in geosynchronous over Vancouver, and the terminator has already crossed over that site, but fortunately it's in high enough orbit that the sun's shining on it."

The grainy image of a bulky, circular object came into focus on the screen of Jeff's computer, picked out in the light of the sun shining behind the vid satellite that John had interfaced with. From above it would look like a white wagon wheel, a central cylinder with six "spokes". In reality, the station had three levels, with two of the projecting "spokes" on each level, situated opposite each other. Wide solar panels sprouted from the sides of each projection, and another circular solar energy collector blossomed from the top of the cylinder like some large, flat, golden flower. At the ends of all the stubby arms save one were dish antennae, each pointed downward, and the center of the upper panel also had a wide dish that slowly rotated to catch communications from other stations in the vicinity. The entire station spun on its axis, slowly and silently, twinkling lights on the station indicating where it was and showing that there was no appreciable power disruption.

"There's no radio traffic at all," John explained. "I can't get a visual on the airlock at the base and haven't yet gotten one of the docking arm that's at one end of the spokes. There doesn't seem to be any sign of power loss or hull breach from what I can see. But then again, this isn't the best resolution."

Jeff took in a deep breath. "Okay, Alpha, Sigma, get going in Thunderbird Three. Rho, you're with them. Epsilon, I want detailed schematics of that station as well as a list of all current experiments being conducted, and any other pathogens our people might encounter. Upload to Thunderbird Three while it's en route. Suits, even in atmospheric conditions, men. I don't want any of you coming back with something dangerous. And full decontamination procedures before getting back aboard Three, understood?"

"F-A-B," said Alan, his boyish face serious. Jeff looked each young man in the face before pressing the button that would send the couch down into the depths.

"Whoa!" Lou exclaimed in surprise as they disappeared. "Where are they going?"

"To our space ship, Thunderbird Three, Aunt Lou," Virgil explained. "If you come out to the balcony, you can see it launch." He turned to Kenny Malone, who had followed Alan up from the pod vehicle repair bay to see how a rescue was handled. "Coming, Kenny?"

"Oh, sure," Kenny replied absently, still very much _not _sure of what he had seen so far. It had been a shock to see Thunderbird Three, even with Alan as his guide, but nothing had prepared him for the change in his racing buddy when the mention of a space rescue was broached. Suddenly, the guy he joked with, talked with, was comfortable with, disappeared and an older, more focused, more mature Alan was revealed. _I can see this Alan at the controls of that massive rocket, _he realized. _Has he always been this way? Which is the real Alan? The race car driver or the rocket jockey?_

"I remember the files I got made mention of a Thunderbird Three and gave a short description, but no vid or other pictures accompanied the note," she said as she followed Virgil out to the balcony. She glanced back to see Jeff stop before John's picture. _That's an ingenious communication device. I didn't even know those "official IR" portraits were there when I toured the lounge last time I was here. It certainly keeps Jeff in visual contact with John. I wonder if the other boys' pictures do the same thing?_

"Now, both of you, keep an eye on the Round House," Virgil said, pointing to that structure.

"Why?" Lou asked, suddenly concerned.

"Because Thunderbird Three will launch through it..."

"Through it!" Lou was aghast. "My cats! What's going to happen to my cats!" She made to run down the stairs to the pool level, but Virgil caught her firmly by the arm.

"Your kitties will be fine, Aunt Lou," he said clearly. "The Round House is soundproofed, and protected against the both the heat and the fuel residue of Three's engines as it launches. In fact, the whole building is shake proof. They'll feel no more than a tremor..."

"For cats, that's enough!" she cried, whipping her arm from his grasp. She hurried down the steps, Virgil right on her heels as she sprinted down to the pumice path that led from the villa. She could hear Jeff shouting from the balcony, and Virgil's breathing behind her as he gained on her. Finally, he got close enough to tackle her, bringing her to the ground even as he heard the slight noise that the irising door of the silo made as it opened. He moved up to secure her form beneath his as the roar of Thunderbird Three's engines filled the air and suddenly the red space ship leaped skyward, threading through the center of the Round House.

"Oh my God!" Lou cried in astonishment and awe as her head and eyes followed the ship's rapid ascent.

"Head down!" Virgil shouted in her ear as a wind, caused by the rocket's passing, blew bits of pumice and other debris their way. He pushed her face down toward the ground, and covered his own eyes with a hand for good measure. When things had calmed, he levered himself backwards and let her up.

She dusted herself off, wincing at a scrape on her arm. Turning, she pointed at him, then the villa, saying as she began to jog toward the guest house, "I have to check on my cats! Tell your father I'll be back soon!"

Virgil shook his head as he watched her go, then turned back toward the main house where Kenny still stood on the balcony, waving his arms and shouting something at him.

"Wow!" Virgil could hear Kenny's exclamation from the poolside. "That was awesome!"

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" Virgil had to say, smiling wryly as he mounted the stairs. "Sometimes I forget how magnificent that launch really is. But wait until you see my 'Bird take off. Now, that's _really _something!"

The two men entered the room to find Jeff talking to Penelope. John's and Alan's portraits were both active, and Tin-Tin was talking to them, but the aristocrat had all of the Commander's attention.

"... He has been there three days now, Commander, and he has tried to steer the conversation to the events in the Caribbean. I am not certain I can hold him off much longer," she was saying. She was dressed for riding, and was sitting or standing before a tree trunk that rose out of the picture. Her eyes flicked to Virgil as he walked past, a hand held up in silent greeting, then she focused again on Jeff. "What do you think should I tell him?"

Jeff shook his head slowly and let out a deep sigh. "I... I don't know. You know this man better than I do. You know what level of discretion you can expect from him."

"I promise you, Commander, that whatever I decide to tell Mr. Southern, I will not implicate your family in anyway," Penny said solemnly.

Jeff nodded. "I leave this in your hands then, Pink Lady. Just be careful. Interpol hasn't been entirely friendly to International Rescue lately, and they probably believe that we set that termite on them deliberately."

"I shall be discreet." Her head turned away briefly and returned. "Now I must go. He is coming. Goodbye, Commander." The picture winked out, replaced by the portrait Virgil had painted, the one with the strand of pink pearls she loved so well.

Jeff found himself at his desk, leaning his elbows on it, his forehead placed briefly in his hands. Then he glanced over at Alan's picture. "ETA, Sigma?"

"One hour fifteen, Commander," Alan said crisply. "We've achieved escape velocity and are beginning our orbital approach to the station. Alpha and Rho are going over the upload from Thunderbird Five."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Three. Give base updates every fifteen minutes."

"F-A-B."

Jeff turned to John. "Thunderbird Five, I would like a download of the information you have received."

"F-A-B," John replied smartly. "Commencing download now."

The commander sat back as the files with the schematics of the space station arrived in his computer's memory. He opened one of the files, scrolling down, making mental notes of the placement of laboratories, air locks and living quarters. _Big and ambitious. Probably a lot bigger than the cancer treatment station that Penny sent me the materials about. I just hope that nothing virulent has gotten loose to kill off the crew or anything._

He was interrupted in his musings by a cough. Looking up, he saw Kenny standing before him, obviously uncomfortable. "Uh, sir?" the mechanic began hesitantly, not knowing the protocol for speaking during a rescue. "I'm going back down to work on the Rolls."

"Of course. Go ahead. I'll get Omicron up and send him down to lend you a hand," Jeff glanced at the clock on his computer. "It's well past time that one was out of bed."

"Thank you, sir," Kenny said, obviously relieved. "Oh, and sir? That rocket ship launch? That was so... awesome!"

Jeff smiled. "Yes, it is, isn't it? It moves me every time I see it."

"Yeah." There was a silence for a moment, then Kenny motioned toward the exit to the study. "I'll be going now."

"F-A-B, Agent 204," Jeff said formally, watching as Kenny backed up a few paces, then turned and walked quickly from the room.

Jeff shook his head. "Am I _that_ intimidating?" he muttered. He glanced around the room. "Where's Lou?" he asked Virgil, who was at the piano.

"Gone to check on her cats. I had to tackle her before she could get too close to the Round House. Being in the building when Thunderbird Three launches is okay, but not being just outside, and from what I could see, she wasn't going to make it," Virgil informed him. He got up from his instrument and came to his father's desk. "What did Pink Lady have to say? Who is pestering her?"

"An Interpol officer, Bryce Southern. He appeared at Bongo-Bongo three days ago and has been trying to question her about what happened in the Caribbean." Jeff's shoulders slumped. "She's thinking of blowing her own cover."

xxxx

"Hey, Janice!" Hugh Bjorg called as he sat down at his desk. "Unity City called. They've got a lead on that gun for you!"

"Great," Janice replied sourly, brushing the over long bangs on her thick brown bob out of her eyes. "I'm still waiting on Interpol for a match on the other bullets found at the scene. It's taking them forever. What's the message?"

"That the gun's ballistic filings match those from a double murder that took place there recently." Hugh handed over the message over to his partner, who took it and glanced at the return call number. "Still think the Clarendon woman's story isn't complete?" he asked.

Janice tapped her stylus on the top of her desk in a rapid tattoo. "Yeah, I think there's something she's not telling us." She sat back in her chair and enumerated her points on her fingers. "We found the traces of her sister's hair and DNA in the room, her fingerprints on the car, and what might have been her footprints outside it. So we know she's been there. And that hypospray we found in the car indicates a powerful muscle relaxant and sedative were used on someone. Just not on Clarendon and not on Franks; the blood work shows us that. So, it makes sense that Franks used it on the sister. But where is she?" She spread her hands in a questioning gesture. "_Somebody_ came in and pulled the two women out, and just in time; after seeing Franks's profile, I doubt he was looking to _intentionally_ graze the Clarendon woman across the back of the head. So, who pulled them out and what did they do with Myles?"

"You're convinced there was more than one?"

Janice snorted irritably. "Yes, of course. According to eyewitness reports, there were at least two people involved in getting Clarendon to the hospital . And we found four different bullets at the scene; one belonging to Franks's gun, and the other three... still waiting on identification."

She glanced at her computer screen as a soft chime was heard. "And we may have that right now. Interpol has finally gotten back to me." She opened the missive and scanned down the information, then sat back again. "Damn! Only one bullet was matched, and its identity is uncertain."

Hugh stood and walked over to her desk. "Why's that?"

She looked up at her partner, pushing her chair away so he could see the email himself. "The bullet they matched is not from a registered gun. It matches one of a few found after a fire fight in the Anderbad Tunnel three years ago. The fire fight was between a Dr. Godber, his lackeys, and..."

Her partner gave her a puzzled frown as he read the email. "International Rescue?"

xxxx

Southern gave Penelope a puzzled look. "What did you just say?"

"I asked," Penelope replied succinctly, "why hasn't Interpol asked his Excellency what Peter Riordan's blood was doing on his beach."

"How... how did you know about that?"

She raised an eyebrow and an almost smug smile ghosted over her lips. "I have my sources." Her face became serious again. "In any case, that was the question you were going to ask me, was it not? How Peter Riordan's blood came to be on the beach of his Excellency, Carlos Esteban Alvarez's private cay in the Exumas when he was supposed to have been with me on the _Seabird_?"

Southern huffed out a breath and deflated in surprise. "Yes, it was. I was asked to come and see if I could uncover the real story about Mr. Riordan's demise. It was impossible for the man to be in two places at one time, but between your story and the forensic evidence, it seems as if he was."

Penelope paused, examining her companion's face and body language with a keen eye. "I understand that the blood was not easy to find, that it had been somewhat buried on the beach," she told him, fishing for confirmation.

"Yes, that was the report," he replied, nodding his head. "But..."

"Now, Mr. Southern, does that not suggest something to you? That perhaps his Excellency had something to hide? Perhaps he had a reason for not wanting Mr. Riordan's blood found on his beach?"

Southern huffed out another breath, this time sitting up straighter and saying in a slow, conciliatory tone, "Yes. It does. But that doesn't explain how..."

The aristocrat cut him off. "I am prepared to tell you 'how', Mr. Southern. But what I say to you must be between us. Not because of any danger to myself, but because of the Riordan family. There is something that they do not know about Peter that should remain secret. I must have your solemn word that what I am about to tell you goes no farther."

"I can't give that word, Lady Penelope, you know that! It's impossible!" Southern exploded into an exasperated tone. "I have a duty to my employer!"

"As I have to mine!" she shot back. "And you, Mr. Southern, you owe my employer far more than mere duty. You owe them your life!"

"What are you talking about?" he asked, now both confused and angry. "I owe no one..." He stopped mid-sentence as he caught the knowing expression on her face. "All right then! You say I owe _your _employer_ my _life!" he cried indignantly._ "Who is your bloody employer?"_

She sat quietly, hands in her lap. Glancing down at them once, she met his gaze with an aloof and imperious air. "Have you never wondered how_ I _came to be near that desolate place where the plutonium store was situated? Have you never wondered how you came to be in the back of_ my _Rolls Royce? It was no accident, no coincidence, I assure you." She lifted her chin and said proudly, "My employer, Mr. Southern, is International Rescue."


	3. Maybe we crashed a party!

_Author's Note:_ The rescue begins and complications arise. A short visit to Alvarez, and Penelope tells all... sort of. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and MathGirl and Bendarr for answering my question about the space station.

_Special Note and Glossary:_ The information on the various diseases and their names came from the official site of the Centers for Disease Control at www(dot)cdc(dot)gov.

A disease that is categorized as a_ **Biosafety Level Four (BSL-4) **_means it is very dangerous and can only be handled in special laboratories that are designed to contain it.

**_HFRS_** means **_Hemorraghic Fever with Renal Syndrome_**.

**_Ribavarin_** the the name of a currently available antiviral drug;** _tagavirin_ **comes from my overactive imagination.

Now for those who reviewed the end of _Masquerade _and the current chapters _of Overtures_:

**Claudette: **Glad to see your reviews up there on _Masquerade_. I'll keep your suggestions in mind, especially the ones for chapter 27; thanks! And even though one of the Tracys got the swine, there's a bigger pig yet to skewer.

**Math Girl:** Thanks for the answer to my question, as you saw, I put it in chapter two. As far as Lady P. and her revelations to Mr. Southern are concerned, read on.

**fellowriverrat:** Glad to see you're catching up with life. Thanks for the compliments on Lou's reaction to the launch. I figured, how many people, even in 2068, had seen a spaceship launch up close and personal? Glad I made you giggle! You're right; we middle-aged folk (**_never_** say _old_) like a good snog and a lot more, too! ;)

**pepsemaxke:** Yes, she did it! As far as Virgil is concerned, Penny still has a lot to think about.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

"This station is... big," Scott said as he pored over the plans that had been sent up. 

"The, uh, side s-spokes are where the e-experiments are conducted and the, uh, most virulent of the biohazards are s-stored," Brains pointed out. "Wh-When we have a list of the, uh, current experiments, we'll have a b-better idea of what we're w-walking into."

Scott straightened up and gave the scientist a thoughtful look. "Do you think that something got loose and killed the researchers? Or maybe had incapacitated them to the point where they couldn't get to the comm and warn their employer?"

Brains shook his head. "I d-doubt it. I'll know better when we, uh, get the list, but even the most virulent of the viruses and bacteria take h-hours to compromise an i-immune system. Someone would have been able to, uh, contact E-Earth."

His colleague nodded. "Okay. Then what else could we be walking into? Any ideas?"

"A simple c-comm failure?" Brains posited. "The r-researchers so e-engrossed in their, uh, work that they forgot to call in?"

"I don't believe that second one," Scott said with a snort, "even if I have seen you miss meals on occasion."

"I n-never miss a meal," Brains countered. "Your, uh, grandmother sees to that."

"Oh?"

"Y-Yes. She brings a, uh, tray down and t-tells me I'd better eat it... o-or else."

Scott laughed. "That sounds like Grandma all right." He poked his finger at the schematics. "Back to the original problem. Is there anyone you can think of that would benefit from possibly... stealing the biohazards?"

"A terrorist attack?" Brains questioned. "I-I'd think it would be, uh, less than c-cost effective. It's not as if this is the o-only facility working w-with such diseases. It's just the s-safest... or so the, uh, company would h-have us believe."

"Hmm," the field commander mused. "Then we're most likely looking at something that damaged the station to the point that radio and computer contact went offline. A meteorite holing it or something of the sort."

"I would say that the o-odds f-favor that, uh, scenario," Brains concurred.

The internal speakers hummed into life. "Rho, I have the upload from the company," Alan's voice called. "Transferring to you."

"Th-Thank you, uh, Sigma," Brains replied. He picked up his PDA. "Hmm. A lot of, uh, BSL-4 agents here. Ebola was a g-given. They're looking for a faster, uh, diagnostic test. Same for L-Lassa fever, but they're also l-looking for a v-vaccine. Q f-fever is on the, uh, list, and so is R-Rift Valley fever. The Nipah and H-Hendra viruses are being further, uh, explored. The more general H-Hantavirus, too. And someone is w-working on HFRS as well. All these need better, uh, treatments. They are trying to find an, uh, alternative to r-ribavirin and tagavirin as the viruses are a-adapting to them." He looked up at Scott. "None of these w-would wipe out the entire p-population of researchers a-at once. Some are c-communicable to humans through livestock and their byproducts, and n-not necessarily person-to-person. Most are f-found only in d-developing countries, but with the, uh, current trade boom with Africa and S-South America, there has been a c-corresponding increase in c-cases worldwide."

Scott let out a low whistle. "That's a hefty load of some pretty deadly diseases. Did they send a personnel list?"

Brains accessed the next file on his PDA. "Y-Yes, Scott," he said, frowning as the information came up on the screen. "There are f-forty-two in all, i-including support crew. They, uh, also sent along a l-list of who's who." Shaking his head, he said, "I might n-not be, uh, able to assist with this r-rescue. There are three or four r-researchers here that I am, uh, acquainted with, and two I kn-know fairly well."

Brains's frown was echoed by Scott's. "Not even in full space suit?"

The engineer shook his head. "N-No. I would very l-likely have to, uh, talk. And my s-stutter would give me a-away."

"Okay. Let me get on the horn to base and get instructions. This may have just gotten a lot harder than we first anticipated."

xxxx

"International Rescue?" Southern echoed in a scoffing tone. "What would a... a lady like yourself be doing for an organization such as that?"

Lady Penelope gave him a sharp, cold look. Her voice dripped with icy contempt. "Mr. Southern. It is obvious to me that you think very little of my intelligence, and of any skills I might have outside of entertaining and rubbing elbows with the upper crust of British society. So it may surprise you to know that, after my higher education was complete, I was attached to the Federal Agents Bureau. I was one of their top agents."

Southern sat back, a frown of disbelief on his features. "Lady Penelope, I have the highest regard for your intelligence and skills. But you are correct about your choice of vocation. I am surprised, and not quite sure if I should believe you."

"If you do not believe me, Mr. Southern, then you lie when you speak of my intelligence and skills," she countered. "However, the point is moot. I am certain you have contacts within the Bureau who can confirm my employment there."

"I do," he replied curtly. Sitting back, he gazed at her speculatively. "Suppose I believe your claim. How did you come to be associated with International Rescue?"

"I shall not explain the whys and wherefores of my employment with them. Nor shall I continue to speak to you of them without your word of honor, your solemn promise, that our conversation goes no further," Penelope retorted haughtily. "You _do_ owe them, Mr. Southern."

For a long, tense period there was nothing to be heard but the birds singing and the occasional hum of an insect. Then Southern said softly, "I suppose I do 'owe' them, as you have put it." He raised his voice and looked her in the eye frankly. "All right, Lady Penelope, you have my solemn word of honor, my promise, that what conversation passes between us today _stays_ between us, especially in regards to International Rescue."

Penelope relaxed just a touch, and gave him a small smile. "Before I accept that promise, there is one thing I must do."

"And what is that?"

"I must... frisk you."

"Frisk me?" Southern said, sounding outraged. "I just gave you my word..."

"I know," she said as she stood and indicated that he should stand, too. "But if there is one thing I have learned, it is that listening devices can be found in the strangest of places."

She made him remove his jacket, and hang it on a branch on the other side of the tree from where they were sitting. His belt followed, and his shoes were minutely examined. She patted him down thoroughly and made him turn out his trouser pockets, moving the contents to the pockets of his jacket. Fortunately, he had chosen to wear a polo shirt; otherwise, as she told him, she would have made him remove his shirt as well. "One cannot trust shirt buttons these days," she had said as she closely examined the few he had. He understood her caution, and the fact that she was _au courant _with the latest surveillance technology went a long way to substantiate her claim that she was once a spy, as he had been. He_ did _have a transmission device, one of the buttons on his jacket, but the range was limited and with the tree between them and the coat, he doubted he would get any recording.

"Are you satisfied?" he asked when she had completed her search.

"Yes, I believe I am," she said, her voice a tad shaky. It had been an interesting search to her mind. Her hands had smoothed over his chest and back, feeling the muscles beneath the cloth, then down his legs. She had felt her face flushing a bit, and a warmth within her that she recognized from past encounters, the same warmth that she had often felt watching Jeff beside the pool, wearing swim trunks and an open Hawaiian shirt. The thought of Jeff brought forth their last conversation and she stopped suddenly, removing her hands and shoving aside the memory just as abruptly. "Please, sit down."

They both sat, and Penelope took two deep breaths to calm herself. Southern looked at her with a puzzled expression. Then her gaze met his, and she said, "Now, where shall we begin?"

"Please tell me how Mr. Riordan's blood ended up on his Excellency's beach," he asked.

xxxx

Alvarez took a sip of his brandy and frowned. He dropped his data pad to the small end table in the sitting room of his personal suite. He found the house unnervingly large and empty, and so confined his activities to the suite, the office, and the dining room. He had no desire to look into the empty bedrooms, still filled with clothes and paraphernalia from the real Alvarez's children. Nor did he go into the other bedroom attached to the sitting room. Engracia's things were still in there and he did not want to be reminded of her demise.

A vision of that beautiful lady, kneeling down next to her husband as he pled and begged for her life and the lives of his children, her head bowed, long, raven-dark hair fallen forward to hide the bruising she had endured at his own hands. He had enjoyed her lovely body, and then sent her off to certain death... he pushed the thoughts away. Such musings reminded him that, although he wore the face of the man, he was not really Carlos Esteban Alvarez. _Such introspection is dangerous. I must submerge my own personality, my own being, and believe myself to **be **him, without reserve, _he thought savagely. _And I cannot afford a misstep. Too many dangerous people know I am not who I claim to be and I do not want anyone else to know. Not until I have reached my goal. Then, it will not matter._

He picked up the pad again, sipping more brandy. The daily news reports were there, downloaded by Fernando, who had declined to share the evening meal with him. There was one in particular that Ramirez had highlighted. It was luridly titled, "Gun From Double Murder Found!" The story went on to tell how the gun, owned by the late James Clayton Franks, had been found beside Franks's body at the scene of a kidnapping. It had been identified as the weapon used in the murder of Olivia Murphy and Pedro Luis Ortega some weeks past. "Franks was shot in the head at close range by as many as four bullets," Alvarez read in a murmur. "The police department of Portland, Maine is working together with both Unity City police and Interpol to discover the identity of the killer."

Laying aside the pad again, he mused,_ The kidnapping victim has not been named, but I would wager it was the Myles woman. If so, International Rescue may have been involved. A fine headline that would be for the website... if those Erdman dolts ever get it running again! Another incursion just today, and this one from within. They are scanning for the "eggs" the termite and virus laid, but if her hacker was as thorough as before, they will not find them. _He sipped the fine brandy again, put the snifter down on top of the data pad, then sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers. _So, Franks is dead, and with him goes any hope of gaining the data that Interpol collected. There also goes any hope of snaring the Myles woman. Tracy will see to her safety; she is probably on that damned island of his and out of my reach. No matter. My visit to the security subcommittee should stir up some hornets to sting Tracy's hide and that of his precious rescue organization. And I will begin to court that lovely secretary of the Vice President's. She will fit into my plans nicely. _

He rose to stretch, and in doing so, knocked the data pad and the brandy snifter to the floor. The data pad skittered across the smooth floor. The glass shattered, what little bit of wine that remained smearing across the hardwood. He looked down on it, frowning. Then he crossed to the household intercom and activated it. "Diego."

It took a moment, but a man's voice returned. "Si, your Excellency?"

"Please come to my sitting room. There has been a small... accident."

xxxx

Jeff was talking strategy with Scott when Lou returned. He nodded at her, and she returned the greeting, sitting in a chair some distance from Jeff's desk. Kyrano, who had brought in coffee, poured her a cup, offering cream and sugar, both of which she took.

"I still don't like it, Alpha. There's no telling what you're going to be walking into," Jeff said sternly. "I want you and Sigma in full suits and armed. If there's no major problem, fine. You can always remove the suits. But once you're exposed to their atmosphere, there's no going back."

"What's the matter?" Lou whispered to Kyrano.

"Mr. Brains cannot go aboard the space station," the retainer murmured back quietly. "There are people there he knows. So Mr. Alan and Mr. Scott are planning on boarding the place. Right now, Mr. Alan is doing a slow reconnaissance flight around the station. Mr. John has not been able to get through to the people on board."

"Thanks, Kyrano," Lou whispered again. She raised her cup to him and he nodded.

Indeed, Alan had taken Thunderbird Three around the station twice, checking out the spokes that stuck out so awkwardly from the sides, and was in the process of going around it from along the axis, looking for holes or any indications of meteor damage.

"I still don't see anything wrong with the structure of the thing," the pilot explained. "No signs of holing, no debris, nothing." He looked at his father through the portrait. "Commander, the only way we're going to find out what's wrong is to board her."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Three. You have the go ahead. But as I've said, full suits and carry your ordnance. That is a direct order!"

Scott frowned, then reluctantly nodded. "F-A-B."

Alan had a less belligerent outlook. "F-A-B, Commander. Coming into docking position with the second level pylon."

There were a few tense moments as Alan guided the red rocket into position, Scott helping him with sensor readings so they could make as perfect a link with the space station as possible. There was some discussion amongst the three in the control room about the airlock and the fact that no one had activated it from the other end. "Epsilon? We'll need an access code." Alan finally said, putting on his space suit. "There's still no response to our hails. Looks like we may have to do an EVA."

"I'm on it," John replied. He turned to speak into his microphone, telling the technicians in Vancouver, who had stayed late at work for this emergency, what was needed. Jeff muted the talkback and stretched, rubbing the back of his neck.

Lou got up and approached the desk, bringing her coffee along. "How are things going?" she asked quietly.

"Frustratingly," Jeff answered. "We have no knowledge of what's going on inside. Just conjecture. And I hate sending the boys in without proper intelligence."

"I can understand that," she replied. She indicated the data pads that Jeff had strewn about his desk. "May I?"

"Go ahead," he said with a nod. She picked one up and began perusing it, leaning up against the desk, cup of coffee in the opposite hand. Virgil came in, wiping his hands on a towel. He had gone down to give Kenny and Gordon a hand with the Rolls Royce. They had gotten to the point where they were beginning to repaint the car, using the chameleon paint, and Virgil seemed to have a knack with the stuff that no one else did.

"How are things going here?" he asked. Jeff shot him a look, which he interpreted immediately. "That bad, huh?"

Just then John came back to the screen, and Jeff raised the volume on the conversation once again. "Thunderbird Three and base from Thunderbird Five. The techs have to find one of the project's higher ups to get the access code."

"More waiting," Jeff groused. He turned his attention back to John and spoke to him directly, "Epsilon, apprise me when they come back with that code."

"F-A-B, base."

"So, how are the cats?" Jeff asked, glancing over at Lou.

She looked up from the pad she was scrolling through. "Well, Midnight had joined Moofums in the ceiling, Snowball had hidden in the closet behind the litter boxes and poor Spot had crammed herself in between the back of the toilet and the wall. I managed to lure them all out with treats and spent some time calming each of them down." She directed her gaze toward the balcony outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. "I have no idea how they'll react when Thunderbird Three comes back."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Were you able to replace the ceiling tiles?"

"Yes. I called to the house and Kyrano told me where I could find a stepladder in the Round House. The tile directly over the cat tree will have to be fastened down somehow so we don't have a repeat of today's antics."

"I'll give it some thought," Jeff replied distractedly. John was picking up his microphone again, and Jeff turned the volume up once more.

"Thunderbird Three and base from Thunderbird Five. We have the access code. I'm transmitting it to Three right now."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird, uh, Five," Brains said. "Passing it along to S-Sigma."

"Base and Thunderbird Five from Sigma," Alan's voice sounded breathy and flat at the same time. "Handing control of Three to Rho as of now. Alpha and I are in the airlock and preparing to EVA."

"F-A-B, Sigma, Alpha. Be careful."

"Alpha, Sigma? Are you carrying ordnance?" Lou suddenly said, peering up at the portraits with a concerned frown on her face.

There was a moment of quiet at her question. Then Jeff cut in, "Alpha, Sigma, are you carrying ordnance?'

"Oh, F-A-B, base," Alan replied hurriedly. "Sorry about that, base. Didn't quite know how to answer... her."

"Noted, Sigma." Jeff turned back to Lou, who was scanning the personnel list carefully. "Mind telling us why you asked the question?"

She highlighted a name and handed the pad to Jeff. "I'm not completely sure, but I think I know this member of the support team, Jake Harris. If he's who I believe he is, he's there under false pretenses. I met him several years ago when I was undercover and crossed paths with a Vancouver narcotics cop. Harris was a chemist at the time, a very good one, and he was stealing materials and using the company labs on occasion to make illegal drugs. He wasn't who I was after, so I let the narcs have him. Still, if he's there on the station, he's certainly not there for his health, or the health of other people. You can consider him dangerous if cornered."

"F-A-B," Alan replied from inside his space suit. "Commencing EVA, now."

"Epsilon, can you give us a visual?" Jeff asked.

"F-A-B, Commander."

John's portrait was replaced by a live shot, taken from the satellite that John had been using, showing two white suited figures moving slowly across the void from Thunderbird Three's air lock to the pylon next to the space craft. Tension mounted on the base as they reached out, taking hold of handles made for the purpose. One of the figures moved in closer. Then something pushed them both backwards. "Escaping air," Jeff muttered. "The airlock wasn't drained last time they used it." Then the figures disappeared within the strut.

"Cycling airlock now," Scott said. The tension eased a bit at his words, then dropped even more as Alan came back with, "We're in! Gravity, point nine-oh G. Atmosphere present."

"Open comm at all times, boys," Jeff reminded them.

"F-A-B, base." "F-A-B, Commander."

Alan's face furrowed behind his helmet. "Do you feel a... shaking, Alpha?"

Scott stopped and stood still. "Yeah, I do. In my boots. It's continuous and feels rhythmic, like somebody's got a boom box on loud with the bass too high."

"Maybe we've crashed a party," Alan quipped.

Scott groaned, and shook his head inside his helmet. "We're proceeding down this pylon. Nothing out of the ordinary. There are several stacks of opened and emptied tote boxes along one side, and a couple of biohazard containers that look like they are full. When did they last have a supply run?"

After a moment, John's voice cut in. "Last week," he said, consulting his data pad. "So they should be fine for foodstuffs and replacement parts, including those for their communications system."

"Hmm. Then equipment malfunction is pretty much ruled out," Alan said. "I'm sure if something burned out on their communication equipment that there'd be at least one person available to fix it."

"A s-safe assumption, S-Sigma," Brains said. "And if there, uh, wasn't, we can f-fix it for them."

"That pounding is getting stronger the farther we move in," Scott observed. "Look, Sigma. There's the emergency airlock. I hope the same access number will work on it."

"It won't," John said with a sigh. "But I have the code for that lock, too." He gave it to the boarding party, and Scott clumsily entered it on the keypad. The airlock door swooshed open, barely heard by the suited astronauts.

They entered the airlock, closing the door behind him, then opened the inner one without running the decontamination cycle. The pounding was stronger now, and Scott pointed that out. "Rho? What could cause such a shaking?"

"A f-fault in the backup, uh, power generator?" Brains suggested tentatively. "But that would b-be more like, uh, a thrumming."

"We're moving into the interior corridor," Alan explained. The interior of the central cylinder was set up rather like a cored pineapple. Most of the living quarters were arranged around the outside of the second level while more general public areas, such as kitchen/dining facilities, sickbay, and entertainment center were found in the core of that story. The control room was on the upper floor. The power and gravity generators were found on the lowest level, as well as storage rooms and the emergency docking airlock. There were two labs in each spoke; the outer one was usually kept in microgravity and the inner one had a variable gravity control. The cylinder's gravity was set at as close to 1G as possible to make the scientists comfortable and make the transition back to Earth easier on them.

"Here's a door and it's locked," Scott said. "Any ideas on how we get in?"

"I was given the access code for this one, too," John answered. Scott punched in the numbers as John read them off, and the door slid aside.

"Holy...," Alan breathed after a moment.

"Sigma! Report!" Jeff's voice cracked across the airwaves.

"Looks like I was right. We_ are _crashing a party."

That's what it looked like to Alan's experienced eye. About a dozen people in various stages of undress were dancing to music that was being piped over the internal intercom, the words rendered nearly unintelligible due to the volume and the underlying bass beat. A few couples, both opposite and same sex, could be seen on either side of the circular corridor, entwined in each other's arms, kissing, groping, and in some cases, going a lot farther.

Scott let out a low whistle. "This isn't a party. It's an orgy." He tapped Alan's arm. "Let's go. This way."

The two men moved down the corridor, keeping as close to the walls as they could, hoping to go unnoticed in the general noise and activity. Scott had chosen the route that looked least occupied by lovers, and they only had to step around one couple who were doing things that made both men's faces flush with embarrassment.

Back in the lounge, the lack of communication didn't worry Jeff; even through the helmets he could discern the pounding beat. "Sigma from base," he called. "Does this... orgy... seem to include everyone?"

"Uhhh, can't tell, Commander," Alan replied, his voice hinting at the strain this was putting on him. "Haven't made a, uh, head count."

"It doesn't, Commander!" Scott was suddenly excited. "Look over there, Sigma!"

Alan looked down the corridor. They had come upon the sickbay, which was situated within the core on that side, and three or four faces were pressed up against the clear windows in and around the curved double doors. As Scott and Alan approached, they noticed that two or three of the people were speaking to them. "Base from Alpha. There are some people holed up in the sickbay and they're trying to tell us something. I'm going to see if I can communicate with them using sign language." Scott began to sign, "What's going on here?" his movements and hand motions hampered by the bulky suit.

One of the people within, a dark skinned woman with long straight hair, shook her head. "I don't think they're familiar with sign language," Scott deduced. The woman looked behind her, then someone handed her a data pad. She held it up to the window. Scott leaned in to read what was written on it in large bold letters.

"Good to see you. We're locked in," he read. "Base and Thunderbirds Three and Five. There are people locked in the sickbay. They are communicating via data pad. I'm sending Sigma back to get one of ours so we can communicate."

"We'll need a laser cutter, too, Alpha," Alan said, pointing at the lock. It was burned and melted, as if someone had intentionally destroyed it to keep those inside from getting out.

"Go, then," Scott said. "Alpha to Rho. Have a laser cutter and a data pad ready for Sigma. He's coming back for them. I'm going up to the control area to see what I can do about the docking pylon."

"F-A-B," came Brains's voice. "Getting things r-ready as we, uh, speak."

Scott tapped on the glass and made motions to show that Alan was going to go back the way that they had come, and that he was going upwards. The woman took the data pad away from the windows and put something else on the screen. "We'll wait here. Hurry," Scott read. He made a fist and signaled as if tapping a door. "Hopefully they at least know that sign."

It seemed as if they did, because the woman inside smiled and nodded. Scott gave her a thumbs up and went off to find the lift to the top level, while Alan retraced his steps to the docking arm.

xxxx

"So, you were undercover, establishing where the thief was, and your cover was unexpectedly blown?" Southern asked, seeking clarification.

"Yes," Penelope said with a sigh. "I was recognized, rendered unconscious, and imprisoned."

"Why did this Franks bring the disk to his Excellency?" he wanted to know.

Penelope chose her words carefully. "There was a rumor, an unconfirmed one, that his Excellency needed the information on the disk to... blackmail IR. That he wanted to create a similar rescue unit to wield as a political club over those countries that were... uncooperative. But in order to do this, he would have to remove the competition as it were. Hence, the blackmail."

Southern nodded. "I see. And Mr. Riordan?"

"Part of my backup team," Penelope said. "When it became clear that my real identity had been discovered, they were to move in and extract me from the situation." This disclosure process had been difficult. She didn't want to compromise Jeff's old friend or her former position and, of course, she was trying hard to keep Jeff and the boys out of it. She also felt it was safer if she kept her discovery of the minister's true identity a secret, and also the name of the fifth member of the party: Brigitte.

"What exactly happened to Mr. Riordan?" he queried. He could tell she wasn't coming clean about everything, but then, after her revelation about who her employer was, he didn't expect her to. There were holes he'd like to fill, such as where did Franks get the disk of information on IR and what happened to it, but he suspected she'd dance around the subject. Right now, getting the story on the bloodstain would have to be enough. Perhaps he could pry some more from her later.

"Mr. Riordan's job was to create a diversion, while other members of the backup team freed me. He did so. We were all to rendezvous at the beach, and he was last to arrive. He was running for our conveyance when Franks stepped out of the shadows and shot him. The bullet went through Mr. Riordan's thigh, clipping the femoral artery. Despite our best efforts, he... he bled to death before we could get him to hospital."

"How did you get him to hospital?" he asked. "I heard that Thunderbird Two was involved."

She nodded once. "Yes, it was." She paused, then continued. "When we got to hospital, we created the story about the pirates."

"Ah, I see," Southern said, nodding. "Pin it on someone who would be expected to act that way and who couldn't come forward to deny the allegations."

"Something like that," she said. Her gaze had turned away from him and she was looking far off into the distance.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you for telling me, Lady Penelope. I assure you, it will go no further." When she didn't respond, he asked, "Are you all right?"

The question jolted her from her reverie, and she turned to him again. "What did you say?"

"I asked if you were all right," he repeated.

She shook her head slowly. "No, Mr. Southern. I am not all right. I... I lost an operative; a colleague. He virtually died in my arms. That has never happened to me before and... it has shaken me to the core. It has made me question my position, my very outlook on what I do. And it has forced me to see some facets of myself that I am not pleased with. I am still trying to decide what to do about my future and that, sir, is why I am here. To think, and to make a decision." She looked away again, and they fell silent.

The quiet between them was not tense this time; then Southern, daring greatly, reached out and took her hand. She turned back to him, startled, and he put her hand between his two, a gesture meant to comfort. His voice raspy, he began, "I know how you feel." He cleared his throat and continued. "I lost a partner, once. It was... shattering. I kept thinking, 'What could have I done to prevent it? How could I have stopped it?' and 'Why her and not me?' She had a family, you see. Husband and children. All left behind. I couldn't look into her husband's eyes when he thanked me for being such a fine partner." He snorted. "Fine partner! If I had been half the partner he thought me to be, she would still be alive." Taking in a deep breath, he let it out slowly. "It ate me up for a long, long time. Made me want to hand in my walking papers, quit the bureau. In the end, I stayed. But I never had another partner. It was too bloody hard."

Penelope swallowed. "I am so very sorry for your loss," she said quietly. "And thank you for sharing your experience." Looking around, she observed, "It is getting dark. We should return to the ranch."

"Yes, we should."

They rose to their feet, and Southern retrieved the various articles of clothing that were draped over the tree branch. Then he shook out the blanket they had used and put it in Penelope's saddlebag. He released Valley Mist's reins, handing them to her rider, then untethered Midnight Ranger's, climbing aboard the horse's back. Side by side, the two rode slowly, and in silence, back to the ranch.

xxxx

Scott got to the control room on the top level of the cylinder. There were more living quarters here; larger ones for the project directors lined one outer edge of the level. The music was just as loud, and the scene was similar to the one below. People dancing, copulating, totally uninhibited. A woman, half undressed, ran past him, shrieking with delight as she was chased by a man who actually bumped into him and continued on, unheeding. Scott shook his head slowly and made his way to the control room.

This room took up two thirds of the other half of the level. Scott was surprised when the doors opened to his touch, and he entered, looking around carefully as he did so. The room seemed deserted, so he walked along the control panels, looking for the console that would allow Thunderbird Three to dock with the station and save Alan another space walk. He found it at last, and called out, "Thunderbird Three and Sigma from Alpha. I am initiating docking sequence."

"F-A-B, Alpha," Alan's voice came back.

"F-F-F-A-B," Brains answered. "Equipment r-ready."

There was a vid screen, and Scott activated it, pleased to see the docking pylon reach out slowly toward Thunderbird Three. He called into his communicator, "Thunderbird Five from Alpha. I have an external visual of the docking pylon. Will send you the... damn. The communications panel is offline."

"As w-we suspected, Alpha," Brains reminded him. "Status on d-docking sequence?"

Scott turned his attention back to the appropriate panel. "Docking sequence complete..." a light went from yellow to green, "...now."

"Cycling station airlock," Alan replied. "Crossing over to Thunderbird Three. I'll be back with you in a few, Alpha."

"F-A-B, Sigma. I'm going to take a look at the communications panel." Without waiting for a response, Scott moved along the bank of consoles until he came to the one that handled communications. "There's some kind of recording--a disk--in the station-wide intercom," he stated. After a quick perusal of the controls, he pressed a button and the incessant _boom, boom, boom _stopped abruptly. Scott grinned and said, "So much for the rave." He frowned as he turned to the controls for incoming and outgoing transmissions. "There's no power at all to the main board," he observed. He began to kneel down. "I'll have to get under the console to see..."

His speech was cut off by a hand grabbing his space suit by the shoulder, hauling him upright, and shoving him chest down against the control board. He turned as quickly as the bulky suit would let him and found himself face to face with a semi-automatic pistol. "Uh, base? I think we have a problem."


	4. I want some answers!

_Author's Note:_ Sorry this took so long. My muse is being grudging about inspiration. The rescue continues. We take a little trip to Ireland and Southern does some heavy thinking. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading and being a sounding board.

_Special Note and Glossary:_ The United States' _DEA_, or _Drug Enforcement Administration_, has a website that gives information on the various illegal drugs out there, with their descriptions and effects. It can be found at www(dot)usdoj(dot)gov(slash)dea. However, the rave drug, _Frenzy_, is from my own overactive imagination.

Now for those who reviewed the current chapters _of Overtures_:

**Janet: **Brains is not the only one whose face was red! Read on!

**Claudette: **Oh, yes. I have cats. I hate medicating them, but I'm the only one who does. Some of Grandma Tracy's reaction to Lou's arrival is in this chapter. As for Lady P 's wisdom, the fallout from her revelation is yet to be seen. Thanks for the good words on my space station descriptions; you'll find out more about the hows, whys, and wherefores of the residents' current behavior in this chapter. And the "Federal Agents Bureau" is straight out of Chris Bentley's, _The Complete Book of Thunderbirds_, to give credit where credit is due.

**Math Girl:** Well, I wouldn't exactly call it a "family" space station. Just a bunch of enthusiastic and swinging singles who are swinging just a little too much right now. Yes, Lady P is finding things hard to explain, but Southern might find them even harder. Grandma's wondering the same thing about Lou as you'll see.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

"What's the problem, Alpha?" Jeff asked, frowning. 

"Someone is pointing a gun at me," Scott said softly.

Lou's head snapped around while she gasped, and Virgil and Jeff bellowed, "What?" in near unison. Jeff shot a glance at Scott's static portrait._ I wish I could see what was going on, but with these new hands free sets there just isn't a way to do it!_

Scott didn't want to upset the man, a skinny specimen roughly his own height, with wild black hair, chest bare and dressed in jeans that were open at the waist and fly. He was waving the gun around but with the muzzle pointed in Scott's direction, and he was shouting something. The pupils of his blue eyes were dilated to near pinpricks, and he was covered with a sheen of sweat. The field commander relayed this information to base, adding, "I don't know what he's saying. I can't hear him while wearing the helmet."

"Can you read lips?" Lou asked. She had nearly spilled what was left of her coffee when Scott made his pronouncement. Placing the cup carefully on the desk, she pressed, "Can you?"

"Even if I could, I'd have trouble here," Scott replied tersely.

She turned to Jeff. "Wish we could get a visual on him. The description doesn't sound like Harris, though." She folded her arms. "Seems like this guy is higher than a kite."

"I agree. These people are obviously under the influence of _something_," Jeff commented. "Someone like that is going to be very unpredictable." He raised his voice. "Alpha, see if you can disarm him."

"F-A-B," Scott said. _And just how am I supposed to do that? _he groused to himself. A sudden movement caught his eye and he turned his gaze slightly to the door where a woman, dressed in nothing but a sports bra (one shoulder of which was pulled down, revealing an expanse of pale skin that made Scott feel warm) and a thong panty, had just come in. She had long, wavy red hair, glasses, and buck teeth behind her full lips, and she was calling to the man with the gun in what Scott decided was supposed to be a seductive manner. _Oh great._ To his father he said, "More company, Commander. Unarmed this time."

The man with the gun turned to speak to the woman, and in that moment, Scott moved. He pushed away from the console, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting the arm back, forcing him to drop his weapon. Once the gun was on the floor, Scott stepped on it, his wide space boot covering most of the pistol.

The twisted arm forced the gunman to his knees, his face contorted with pain, a development that angered the woman. She came running at Scott, scolding, pushing at him to let his victim go. The man turned his head and said something to her. She suddenly stopped her attack, and bypassed them to get to the communications controls. Scott swapped his grip on the prisoner to the other hand, then reached out to try and stop her, but his gloved hand encountered a part of her body that he didn't expect and he withdrew it as if it were hot. "What th...?" His puzzled reaction was cut off as the beat of the music started up again.

"Alpha, report!" Jeff's voice, full of anger and trepidation, sounded loud in Scott's ear.

"Uh, yeah, ahem. I've disarmed him, Commander," Scott said slowly. The woman had begun to dance, clapping her hands above her head and prancing around, turning and twirling, shaking her hips to the beat, ignoring his presence. The man tried to stand and pull away, bouncing a little with the music, too and startled, Scott released his hold. The man didn't even look back at him, but joined the woman, standing very close to her, his hands running down her sides and stopping at her hips, his lips beginning to trail kisses down her neck as they swayed to the thumping bass. "Oh, God," Scott said in a strangled voice as he watched the two of them. He picked up the gun and turned quickly back to the communications console.

"Are you all right?" Jeff demanded. "Who else came in?"

"I'm okay, Commander. A woman came in, looking for the man. It seems that they are... uh... together and wanted the music back on. They're ignoring me now. They're rather... uh... engrossed with one another." Scott took a look back and was suddenly very, very glad that there was no visual communication.

"Acknowledged, Alpha." Jeff said. "Take a quick look at the communications panel and give me a preliminary report as to whether or not it can be repaired. Then get down to the lower level and help Alan with those people in the sickbay. I want some answers!"

"F-A-B," Scott replied smartly.

Jeff glanced back at Lou, who had picked up her coffee and was speaking softly to Virgil. The musician nodded his head, and lifted his telecomm to say something. She turned to meet Jeff's gaze and remarked, "I'd like to know where that gun came from. I'm sure it wouldn't be allowed in anyone's personal effects."

"Are you sure that the guy isn't this Jake Harris you were talking about?"

"Yes. The description is way off. And I might be totally wrong about Harris. I'm sure there's more than one person with that name in the Vancouver area." She shrugged. "I asked for a laptop so I could get a possible lead on the drug itself. I might be able to find out what it is by what the team has already reported."

"Good idea," Jeff said. He turned back to watch the portraits as Scott's eyes became active again."Sigma, what's your status?"

"I have the tools we need and I'm heading back to the sickbay now," Alan replied.

"F-A-B. Go ahead and get started on cutting your way in. Alpha will be meeting you there in a few moments."

"F-A-B!"

Scott, his voice ragged, gave his report. "The panel controlling external communications has been sabotaged. Power's been cut and two main circuit boards are missing. It's repairable, but... I'd rather not do it here and now. Maybe when these two are... uh... finished..."

"Finished with what?" Eleanor chose that moment to walk in, followed by Tin-Tin, who carried a laptop over to Lou. The older woman's eyes followed the Malaysian girl's movements, then met Lou's frank gaze for a moment.

Lou inclined her head slightly. "Ma'am," she said in greeting. She left the desk to meet Tin-Tin halfway, then sat down in a chair, opening up the computer. Tin-Tin showed her where to find the power button and quietly gave her a few pointers on the features of that particular model.

Eleanor turned her head without comment and focused instead on her son. "Are you going to answer my question or not?"

"This really is not a good time for you to be up here," Jeff said, hoping to put her off. "The people we are trying to rescue are... uh..."

"Under the influence," Virgil filled in.

"Yes, thank you, Delta." Jeff turned back to Scott. "Alpha, don't worry about the comm now. Go down and give Sigma a hand."

"F-A-B." Everyone could hear the relief in his voice.

Jeff continued his explanation. "They're under the influence of some drug that has made them..."

"Horny," Virgil helpfully supplied.

Lou chuckled slightly. Tin-Tin's eyes grew wide and she covered her mouth with a hand. Jeff turned red and said in a slightly more sarcastic tone, "Thank you very much there, Delta."

"Just cutting to the chase, Commander," Virgil said with a grin.

Eleanor frowned. "Horny? Are they using one of those fancy rave drugs you hear so much about?" she wanted to know.

"That's very likely the case, ma'am," Lou said, her eyes glued to the laptop's screen. "I'm at the DEA's website and there are one or two drugs listed here that might fit the bill." She glanced up at Jeff. "One of them can be used in an atomizer, so there is the possibility that it could be airborne. We'll know more when the crew interviews the people in the sickbay."

Jeff nodded. "Right." He gazed at Lou thoughtfully. "If you come up with any questions that might help identify what drug we're looking at, don't hesitate to ask."

"F-A-B," Lou replied with a smile, going back to the computer again.

Eleanor glared first at her son, who was having a quiet word with Virgil, then at Lou, who was scrolling through the website's information, Tin-Tin looking over her shoulder. "Hrumph," the old woman exclaimed, folding her arms. Then she turned and went to sit on Thunderbird Three's couch.

She had grudgingly agreed that Jeff should help Lucinda out when it came to rescuing her sister; after all, no one else could get her to Maine as quickly as Scott could in Thunderbird One, and the sister _had_ been kidnapped because of Lucinda's involvement with that Interpol disk. But she could not see why Jeff _had_ to go and oversee the rescue operation personally. Nor had she approved of just the two of them staying overnight in the Manhattan penthouse.

She had not been happy to hear that Jeff was bringing Lucinda to the island, and was indignant to learn that he was bringing not just the woman, but her four cats as well. Her outrage had been mollified when she heard that Lou would not be staying in the villa, but in the Round House, separate from the rest of the family. Still, the woman ate with them at every meal, and Eleanor thought that Jeff was spending entirely too much time hanging around her when he could have and probably should have been overseeing things elsewhere. Now here he was, consulting her on a rescue! What next? Would she be learning to fly Thunderbird One or Two? Eleanor wasn't sure what she could do to stop what she saw happening, but she would be damned if she was going to let it happen without a fight!

"Sigma to base," Alan's voice came over the comm as the eyes on his portrait flashed. "We're in. The people in here seem to be coherent and unaffected by whatever's affecting the rest of the crew."

"How many are in there?" Jeff asked.

"Seven," Scott said. "I'm using the data pad to communicate. They say that one of their number has a gunshot wound, and another went into some kind of anaphylactic shock."

"Thunderbird, uh, Three to b-base, Alpha, and Sigma," Brains piped up. "W-We can transport the, uh, wounded to Earth."

"F-A-B," Jeff answered. He glanced over at Lou with a questioning look.

She got up, carrying the laptop over to the desk. Her eyes narrowed as she thought. "Base to Alpha. Can you get us an ID on the gunshot victim? And a description?"

There was a pause, then Scott said, "They tell me he's one of the cooks, name of... damn! Name of Jake Harris. They're taking me to him now. He's unconscious and though they've stopped the bleeding, he's going to need surgery. The anaphylactic shock patient has been stabilized to the best of their ability." There was another pause. "I asked what happened to their doctor. They said he's been affected like the others."

"A description please, Alpha," Jeff prompted.

"F-A-B. The gunshot victim is Caucasian, looks like he's in his fifties, short, slightly plump, and balding, has a hawk-nose and a deep dimple in his chin. What hair he has left is dark with silver patches over his temples."

"Are there any distinguishing marks? Tattoos, birthmarks?" Lou asked.

Scott conferred with the denizens via data pad. "Yes, there's a tattoo of an eagle on his right forearm."

Lou turned to Jeff. "That sounds like Harris, all right." She shook her head in frustration. "Why did these people give us just a list of names? We could have used the security photos, too."

Brains asked a question. "Alpha, when d-did this whole thing start? And do they have a-any, uh, idea why they weren't a-affected?"

There was a period of quiet again, then it was Alan who answered, "They say it started a little bit after their first work break, around ten-thirty to eleven a.m. Vancouver time. The anaphylactic patient was brought in around eleven. Things got bad around one and have continued since then."

"So this stuff is long lasting," Jeff commented.

"Or they've, uh, dosed themselves a-again somehow," Brains suggested.

Lou looked at the laptop and frowned. "Sigma? Ask the people you're with if they had any coffee today."

"Coffee?" Virgil repeated.

Lou nodded. He came close to peer over her shoulder and she pointed at an entry on the site. His eyebrows went up and a look of comprehension came over his face.

Just then, Alan returned with the answer. "Negative on that, base. Everyone here drank tea or juice this morning. Anything but coffee."

"What about the shock patient?"

There was a pause, then the reply. "No one knows for sure, but one of the people here says she knows that the patient enjoyed drinking coffee."

Lou smiled a bit. "Then I think I may have found our culprit. It's a club drug called Frenzy. It lowers inhibitions, raises libido, sharpens the senses, and gives a feeling of euphoria. Its effect is also boosted by caffeine, so it's often poured into coffee or a caffeinated soft drink. The good news is that this stuff must be ingested. The air should be okay."

"How long does the, uh, effect last?" Brains wanted to know.

"The site says that it can last up to ten hours," Lou said with a concerned frown.

"That makes sense," Brains remarked. "With ingestion, the effect would vary from p-person to person according to body mass. It could, uh, last for hours as the b-body breaks it down and tries to, uh, get rid of it."

"And some people might have bad reactions to it. If this Harris is a cook, that would explain how it got into the coffee," Tin-Tin added.

"The pieces are falling into place now," Jeff said with satisfaction. "Who locked those people up?"

There was the expected pause, and Alan came back with, "Harris and one of the other cooks, a guy by the name of Danny Leeds, rounded up the unaffected people at gunpoint. The nurses on duty were already dealing with the anaphylactic patient. Harris and Leeds were about to lock up the sickbay when they had an argument and Leeds shot Harris. He opened the door just long enough to shove Harris through, then locked it up and took off."

"Do they have any idea where this Leeds guy is?" Jeff asked.

"Or what he looks like?" Lou added.

"Why is it so important to know what the man looks like?" Eleanor asked huffily.

Jeff and Lou exchanged glances, then Lou said, "Ma'am, Alpha has already had a run-in with a man holding a gun. He managed to disarm him. If this Leeds turns out to be the same person, then we know that the two known conspirators were accounted for. If not..."

"If not," Jeff filled in, "then there's another gunman out there."

xxxx

Melissa Riordan wanted to slam the door to the bedroom she was sharing with her daughter, but instead she closed it carefully, not wanting to wake little Kaylie. She tried to stifle her sobs as well. The argument between her and her father had escalated to the point where he was ready to slap her, and only the intervention of her mother had kept him from it.

_Why can't he see that I don't **want **to stay here?_ she asked herself. _I'm not a child! I want to go back to Unity City, to stand on my own two feet! He's already talking about me marrying again! And Peter less than two weeks in... in his grave... _The thought of her husband brought forth fresh sobs, and she stuck a knuckle in her mouth to try and calm down.

After a few moments, she had calmed enough to take a tissue and wipe her eyes, then another to blow her nose. She got up and turned on the light in the closet so she would have something to see by as she dressed for bed. The sliver of illumination fell on the dresser in her room and glinted on an object there.

_Scott's phone, _she realized dully. The words on the paper that P.J. had passed to her under the watchful, scowling eye of her father came back to her. _"If you need a friend..." Dear God, I need one now._

She opened the phone, scrolling down to one particular name. It wasn't Scott's; his home phone number was listed under "Tracy, Scott". Instead she found it under the name "Carpenter, Malcolm". It was the Mercury astronaut's true first name, as she had found out long ago when Peter had told her about how his friend and that friend's brothers had all been named. She had thought the topic interesting, and done a bit of research just to satisfy her own curiosity. Now it was holding her in good stead. Her father was not above snooping through her things, and she did _not_ want him to find this phone number. _I'll have to ask Scott how to password protect this phone, _she thought, making a mental note to herself. _Now, I don't dare to talk to him here; I might wake Kaylie. But where?_

She listened hard to the noises of the household, and tried to think back to what had been the routine when she had been single and living under her parents' roof. _I think the boys are still out, and will be out until last call. Da and Mum are probably downstairs, having a row over me, but Da will walk out and..._

As if in answer to her thoughts, there was the slam of a door downstairs, one that she could not only hear, but she could feel. A few moments later, an engine started up, and a car roared away into the night. She sighed, a palpable sense of relief settling on her shoulders. _He's gone. I have a bit of time to use the sitting room. Ma wouldn't mind me ringing up a friend. And she doesn't have to know who it is._

There was a very quiet, almost timid, knock on the door. Melissa got up, slipped the phone in her pocket, and answered the door.

"Are you all right, Mel?" her mother asked quietly.

Melissa shook her head vehemently, the red hair swinging with the motion. "No, Ma, I'm not all right," she said, stepping out in the hall and closing the door behind her, her voice at low volume, but still at high heat. "How dare he talk about my remarrying, now, so soon after... Peter!"

Her mother sighed heavily. She knew where her daughter had gotten her stubborn streak and it wasn't from anyone strange. "He doesn't mean anythin' by it. He's only thinkin' of the children, luv. They need a father; you know that."

"If he's only thinking of the children, he needs to let them have time to grieve for the father they just lost before foisting another on them. An' I'd rather do the choosing if an' when it comes to remarrying," Melissa continued in a hiss. Then she softened. "I'm sorry, Ma. I don't mean to take this out on you."

"You never do," Mrs. O'Connor said with a wan smile. "But somehow, I always get caught in the middle."

"I know," Melissa replied, hanging her head. Then she picked up her chin and said, "I'm going downstairs for a bit."

Mrs. O'Connor nodded. "Just don't stay down there too long. You don't want to be there when your father comes home."

"I won't," her daughter assured her. She kissed her mother on the head. "G'night, Ma."

"Goodnight, Mel."

Mrs. O'Connor moved off to her own room, and Melissa padded downstairs to the sitting room. She turned on just one light and sat down on the sofa next to it, then speed-dialed "Malcolm's" number. As the call was placed, she pushed back tendrils of red hair, and sat up straight, mustering a smile for Scott when he answered the phone.

"Scott Tracy here... or not here as the case may be," came the voice. His picture snapped on, a sheepish grin on his handsome face, and it was evident she was talking to his answering machine. "I'm sorry that I'm away from my phone at the moment, but please, leave a message after the funky tone and I'll get back to you at the first opportunity. Thanks for calling!"

Her shoulders slumped for a moment, and she debated about leaving a message. Then the tone, a strange slide-whistle noise, sounded and she said, "Scott? It's Mel. I... I really need... a friend right now. Please ring back when it's morning here." She paused, not knowing what to say. "I think you know the number," is what finally came out. "Talk to you soon."

She cut off the call, and sighed. _No use waiting up for him to ring back. And Da or the boys will here soon. I'd better just go to bed. _Slipping the phone back into her pocket, she turned out the light, and went back upstairs.

xxxx

_Damn, but it's hot here._ Southern let out the smoke from his pipe as he stood on the patio at Penelope's ranch house. The area had been baking in the sun for a good hour, the shade producing trees in such a position that their shadows no longer reached outward toward the patio, but back toward the house. He took another puff and considered the bind he was in.

_How can I **not** report this to my superiors?_ he mused. _After all, it's why I came here; to find out the truth behind Riordan's blood. And I found it. Most emphatically so._

He sauntered over to one of the lounge chairs and sat down, crossing his legs at the ankles. _But at what cost? I have promised Penelope that I would say nothing to them about her revelation. And, as she pointed out, I **do** owe International Rescue my life. _He closed his eyes behind his sunglasses and puffed on the pipe again. _Yet, what she said is so... unbelievable. That she is their London agent? Such a delicate flower as she is? Who would think someone as refined as she is could be involved in something as dirty and dangerous as espionage? Then again, that is precisely the kind of cover that a good agent would cultivate. And she was right about the situation at the plutonium store. What else would explain her presence?_

Shaking his head, he thought about sounding out Parker. _I'm not sure what kind of reception I'd get from him. It would all depend on whether or not Penelope told him what we discussed. In any case, no matter what I asked him, he is going to do whatever he can to protect her. I've seen them together long enough to know how loyal he is to her. I would not be surprised if he were part of the team that extracted her. _

His pipe was forgotten as he thought back to her story. _Who else was part of that "pirate attack"? Wasn't there a fourth person? I wonder what kind of reception I would get there? Or perhaps Patricia could interview whoever it was again. But for her to do that, she would need to know what I do, and I'm not sure if I can tell her. However, I may pass Lady Penelope's question along. Have Patricia see if his Excellency can explain the presence of the blood stain. And I can check with my contacts in the Federal Agent's Bureau to see if Penelope was indeed an agent there._

His heavy thinking was interrupted by the rasp of a throat being cleared. It came from the sliding glass doors that gave access to the patio from the house. Southern turned his head to see Parker standing there. "Tea h'is served," he announced.

"I'm coming." The Interpol officer levered himself out of his chaise and slipped through the open doorway.

xxxx

Things were moving along at the space station. None of the people in the sickbay were part of the technical maintenance team, so Jeff told Scott and Alan to try and fix the comm system. The brothers first transferred the wounded Harris and the anaphylactic patient to Three's small sickbay, then removed their space suits, having been given the okay by Jeff to do so. They were told to keep their ordnance close and a watchful eye out for Leeds; the description given to them by the people in the sickbay hadn't matched that of the man Scott had encountered.

"Let the station residents search for him," Jeff ordered. "It's their territory and they know what he looks like. You just get that comm fixed and get those patients back to their base."

Brains was called down from Three's cockpit to guard the two patients and keep an eye on their vitals. John relayed a message to the pharmaceutical company about the situation as they had found it, and the relieved techs told him that they were preparing a shuttle which would rendezvous with the station within three days.

"I hope they have a lot of 'morning after' pills on hand," Lou muttered, "or else they'll be losing a third of their crew within a month."

Jeff shot her an amused glance, one that turned puzzled. "Why do you think they hired someone like Harris? Wouldn't his background have removed him from consideration on this project?"

Lou shrugged. "It would all depend on how desperate they were. I mean, how many people are going to want to go live in a space station and cook for a group of scientists for months on end? If he had done his time and played down his chemistry background, he might look appealing as an employee. A parole board probably wouldn't mind; they'd definitely know where he was and he could check in by vidcomm on a regular basis." She sat back in the chair she was occupying and sipped her second cup of coffee. "They might have even thought of it as giving an ex-con a break. Whatever their reasons, I bet they don't do anything like this again."

"I'm sure they won't," Jeff replied. "But why would Harris and Leeds dose the station's crew?"

"I'm not sure," Lou said with another shrug. "Testing out the product, maybe. Or they were found out and they had to deal with the stuff. Maybe they figured that the crew of the station wouldn't want it known that they'd been drugged and would keep quiet about it. Nobody will know for sure unless one of the culprits confesses."

Jeff nodded. "I see. I hope they find Leeds. We don't need any more surprises on this rescue." He turned back to the boys' portraits, waiting for news from one or the other of them.

Scott was very relieved to see that the man and woman who had been in the control room were no longer there when he and Alan returned. All that remained of their presence were the man's jeans and the woman's sports bra. The two IR operatives took a good look around the room, searching for other possible intruders, then made sure the door was locked behind them so they wouldn't be disturbed as they worked.

"I'll turn this crap off," Alan said, reaching to shut off the music again.

The field commander shook his head. "No, leave it. If it keeps the natives happy..."

"Oh, okay," Alan grudgingly agreed. He glanced back at the crumpled up clothes. "Were they really...?"

"Yes," Scott cut in sharply. "They were."

The younger man shook his head. "This stuff must be pretty powerful."

"Yeah, it must be to make that woman look good to anybody," Scott muttered. "Give me the first circuit board."

Thirty minutes later, they were done. "Leading Edge space station calling Leading Edge Pharmaceuticals base," Alan called.

The comm screen winked into life. "L.E.P. here! Man, are we glad to hear from you guys! What's the situation?"

"Your external communications have been restored," Alan continued, sounding very brisk and businesslike. "International Rescue will be departing in ten minutes for your location. Our scientific team assures us that the drug affecting your people will wear off in a few hours."

"Great!" the technician at the other end said enthusiastically. "We've been told that you're coming our way to bring us some casualties. We'll be ready for them."

"Affirmative, L.E.P. base. Our ETA to you: one hour fifteen. We will notify your sober people on the way out."

"Cool! See you soon!"

The picture winked out and Alan turned to Scott. "Why do I have the feeling that their space program isn't exactly... disciplined?"

"Probably because it isn't," Scott replied, hefting their toolbox. "It seems to be full of bright young minds, with the emphasis on the ' young'." He tapped his hands free unit. "Alpha to Thunderbird Three. We're on our way back."

"F-F-A-B," Brains replied.

They descended to the second level and stopped by the sickbay, where they found the nurses busy with two or three nauseous crewmates. "Your communications board is repaired," Scott said with a sympathetic smile. "You can call your base now."

"Thanks so much," the older nurse said to them. "I don't know what we would have done without you."

"The drug would have worn off after a while," Alan explained, "but it might have been too late for your patients by then. We'll get them down to your base for more comprehensive care. And a shuttle from your company will be here in a couple of days."

"Has there been any sign of Leeds?" Scott asked.

The nurse shook her head. "No, none. But the search party isn't finished with the lower level yet." She gave them a smile. "Thanks again for you help. You'd better get going."

"Right. We were glad to help," Alan replied.

The two men walked back to the docking arm, stepping into the long corridor and locking the door to the living area behind them. They used the code they had been given on the emergency airlock, and stepped inside. The airlock cycled as before, only this time, they allowed for the decontamination process. "No sense bringing something back with us," Scott said. Both of them had been through this already as they had gone back and forth between Thunderbird Three and the sickbay.

"I'm glad that this is the last time," Alan said with a sigh. "I'll be happy to get back to Earth."

"Alpha from International Rescue base." Jeff's voice sounded in Scott's ear.

Several things happened all at once. Scott reached up to tap his earpiece and answer the hail just as the airlock's indicator light turned green. Alan pressed the button that would open the door to the final length of the docking arm. The door slid open, and the younger Tracy stepped through the opening. There was a blur of red, and Alan's shouted, "Hey!" then the door slid shut again in Scott's face.

"What the hell?" he muttered, jabbing at the button to open the door. It wouldn't budge. He tried to put in the code he'd been given. The small screen over the button scrolled a message. "Access Denied. Emergency Manual Override," he read with growing concern.

"Alpha? Is something wrong?" Jeff asked. There was a loud but muffled thud on the wall of the airlock and Alan's voice raised in what Scott could only interpret as anger.

"The door to the emergency airlock; it's shut!" Scott complained. "I can't get it open and Sigma's on the other side!" He pounded on the door, even though he knew it was useless. "Hey! Open up!" He tapped his earpiece again, and called, "Thunderbird Five from Alpha! See if you can get an override code on the emergency airlock!"

"The one they gave you before isn't working?" John asked.

"No! Someone has activated an 'emergency manual override'. Sigma's on the other side and it sounds like he's in trouble!"

Scott kept jabbing at the button, muttering, "Come on, come on!" There were two or three more thumps then a noise that made Scott's heart all but stop.

"Alpha to base and Thunderbird Three. We have a code red, I repeat, a code red!" he shouted in his earpiece. "A shot has been fired!"


	5. This is all very interesting

_Author's Note:_ The rescue wraps up and Jeff and Lou come to an understanding. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading and being a sounding board. No reviews on chapter four, but I'm going to keep going.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

As Jeff's bellowed demand for information mixed in Scott's ear with John's taut call for the same, Scott looked down at the toolbox. His momentary shock dissipated as he found he had a solution to the problem he was facing. "Alpha to Thunderbird Five and base. I won't need that damned code. I'm going to cut my way through!" 

He pulled out the laser cutter, fired it up, and began to use it on the door. "Commander, I have reason to believe that Leeds is on the other side of the airlock door with Alan. As I've stated, a shot has been fired. Alan is armed, but we assume that Leeds is as well. So I have no other information to report at this time," he stated tersely.

There was a momentary pause, and then Jeff, his voice down to a tolerable rumble, answered, "F-A-B. Update us as soon you can."

"F-A-B." Sweat formed on Scott's brow and upper lip and a drop or two ran in a rivulet down the back of his neck. The laser put out a good deal of heat while cutting through the sliding door and he was in an enclosed space, which amplified the problem. The thumping on the other side of the wall hadn't stopped, but the thumps had become much less frequent. The yelling, however, _had_ ceased, and Scott savagely pushed away the images of what he might find on the other side of the door when he finally broke through. He wasn't bothering to be careful but found the new gloves and visor to be a Godsend as he worked with the hot, bright, cutting beam. He also wasn't too particular about how big he was making the hole. He just wanted something big enough for him to squeeze through.

Finally, he got the less-than-perfect square cut to his satisfaction. It was still attached to the door by a thin sliver of metal. Deactivating the laser, he cast it aside and unholstered his pistol. Gritting his teeth, he kicked hard at the obstruction and it fell away with a noisy clank. He stepped through, first putting a foot and leg through, then his armed hand, followed by his head and wide shoulders. He could smell his uniform singeing from the heat of the metal he had just cut but he didn't care. "Al... Sigma!" he called, as he pulled the rest of his body through.

"Over here, Alpha," came the sound of his youngest brother's weary voice. The pair of blue boots that stuck out from between two piles of empty crates moved, and Scott hurried over to help pull Alan to his feet. His brother was banged up, bruised, and held his free hand to his head, where a small gash trickled blood down the side of his face. He was missing cap, visor and earpiece, but still had a grip on his gun.

"Where's the other guy?" Scott asked.

"Over there. From the description we were given, it's that Leeds character."

Both brothers moved over toward the fallen figure. The man was big, taller than Scott, and wider, with a muscular build and a shock of bright red hair. He had a beaut of a shiner developing and lay there unconscious. Scott examined him with an eye for other injuries, then turned to Alan with a frown. "Who got shot?"

"Neither of us. He held his gun on me and when you started pounding on the door, it distracted him long enough for me to get hold of it. We struggled and I managed to prise it from his hand and throw it over there. It went off while we were struggling." Alan made a movement with his head and winced. "We went a couple of rounds, then I managed to shoot him with the trank gun."

"Trank gun? You had your _trank_ gun with you? Not your regular ordnance?" Scott asked, incredulous.

"Uh, yeah. I know what would happen if a bullet went through a wall of the station. Major trouble," Alan said wearily as he collected his things. He put his earpiece in and called, "Base and Thunderbird Five from Sigma. I'm all right."

"Stand down code red," Scott added.

"F-A-B," the response in two voices again, relieved ones this time.

Scott looked around at the trashed docking arm. "Any idea what he wanted?"

"Yeah. When he first attacked, he managed to get an arm around my neck, and put his gun to my head. Threatened to blow my brains out if I didn't cooperate," Alan replied. "Said he wanted me to take him aboard Three. Him and this box over here." He moved over to the box, one of the totes like others, except that when he opened it, it was obvious that this one wasn't empty. It was filled with six plastic bottles, each holding roughly five liters of a clear fluid.

"The drug?" Scott asked. Standing over the box, he tapped his earpiece. "Base from Alpha. What does this Frenzy stuff look like in its natural state?"

Jeff shot a glance at Lou, who went back to her research. "It's a colorless, odorless fluid. Gives the caffeinated drink a slightly sweeter flavor."

"We seem to have a box full of it here, all bottled and ready to go," Scott reported. He exchanged glances with Alan. "I guess we'll be giving this Leeds character and his... cargo... a ride Earthward after all."

"No!" Lou cried. "Don't do it!"

All eyes in the lounge turned to her. She looked around, then said, "Alpha, Sigma, if you take him and that drug onboard Three then fly them down to Vancouver, it will give the RCMP a legitimate reason to impound Thunderbird Three and arrest everyone aboard her."

There were a variety of reactions to this, from Virgil's surprised, "What?" to Tin-Tin's audible gasp. All reactions of shock... except from one quarter.

"And just _why_ would the Mounties arrest someone from International Rescue?" Eleanor asked, her face and voice both showing her skepticism.

Lou took a deep breath and let it out. "Well, ma'am, it all has to do with the sovereignty of nations. A space station is considered a part of the country that built and/or owns it, and as such, is subject to the same laws as that country."

"Yes! I remember now," John piped up. "If a station is owned by, say, some Brazilian outfit, it's subject to Brazilian law if some kind of crime is perpetrated on it. Even if it's staffed entirely by foreigners."

"Exactly," Lou said with a smile. "In this case, if you transported the drug from that space station to Vancouver, it's just the same as transporting illegal drugs within the national boundaries of Canada, and carries the same penalties."

"That's right," Jeff said, nodding. "American space stations are under the jurisdiction of the Department of Justice, usually the FBI. They consider any criminal activity that happens on one as 'crossing state lines'."

"Where does the International Space Station fall under this?" Tin-Tin asked.

"It's under the jurisdiction of Interpol," Lou replied. "Each part of that station was built by a different country and through some convoluted logic, they decided that crimes committed there would be treated as 'crossing national borders'. Ergo, it's under World Gov laws and that's Interpol's jurisdiction."

"This is all very interesting, but doesn't address the current situation," Scott muttered. "Namely, what do we do with this Leeds character and the drug?"

There was a brief pause, then Jeff waved a hand at Lou. "You know more about this than I do."

"Get someone from the station to put Leeds and the drug under lock and key," Lou counseled. "And let the station's owner know that there should be an RCMP presence aboard that shuttle when it goes up."

"What about Harris?" Alan asked. "Wouldn't the drug be evidence against him, too?"

She shook her head and waved a dismissive hand. "I wouldn't worry about Harris," was her answer. "I doubt that Leeds will want to take the fall all by himself. He'll probably be more than eager to roll over on his partner. Plus you've got the testimony of the station's people to strengthen the case against him."

"F-A-B," Scott said. "I'll call the station. Thunderbird Five, we may need that code after all in case no one can open that airlock."

"F-A-B," John replied. "I'm on it."

"Well, sounds like there's going to be more waiting for those boys to come back," Eleanor said. She rose carefully, hiding the slight sway of her body as she came upright. "I'll go down and help with dinner."

Lou looked over at her with a hesitant smile. "Um, do you need any help? With setting the table or something?"

Eleanor gave her a small, brittle smile in return. "No, I think we have it covered. We usually do. Besides, you're a_ guest_."

Jeff rolled his eyes at his mother's emphasis on the word "guest", and shook his head as she left the lounge. "Lou, I apologize..."

"No need, Jeff," Lou put up a hand. "You didn't do anything wrong. And I expect some flack from her anyway." She smiled at him ruefully. "It's just I was taught that a good guest offers to help, especially around dinner time."

"Ah," Jeff said in reply before turning back to the ongoing rescue. "Thunderbird Five, it might be a good idea if Leading Edge contacted the RCMP about Harris as well as the situation with Leeds."

"Already on it, Commander," John replied.

"F-A-B," Jeff replied. He kept half an ear on what his sons were telling him and half his attention on the conversation that had sprung up behind him.

"Aunt Lou?" Virgil asked. "A couple of years ago, we had to rescue the crew of an illegal broadcast satellite before it entered the atmosphere, and then make sure the station came down in an uninhabited area. Who would have jurisdiction over something like that?"

"Hmm. Was the satellite itself illegal, or were its broadcasts illegal?" Lou asked.

Virgil and Tin-Tin exchanged glances. "Both, I think," she said. "But the main problem was that it wasn't registered and was in an illegal orbit."

Lou frowned a bit, a thoughtful expression. "I think that would put it in trouble with the International Space Control and the World Space Agency, both of which would fall under Interpol's jurisdiction. Why?"

"Just curious," Virgil responded. "Thanks for the information." He folded his arms across his chest. "I was sure surprised that Rick O'Shea was able to broadcast again so soon after we pulled his fat out of the fire."

"He was? Like how soon?" Lou asked, frowning again.

"The same day," Tin-Tin replied. "After he got out of the hospital, I think."

"I'm surprised, too," the older woman remarked, an expression of mild surprise on her face. "Either he had some pull somewhere, or he was broadcasting from jail. Usually Interpol would be all over him like jam on toast."

Their attention turned to the wall of portraits as Alan's finally changed over to a live shot. Virgil winced, and Tin-Tin clucked her tongue when she saw the damage to the youngest Tracy's face. "Oh, Alan," she murmured.

"Wonder what the other guy looked like?" Virgil commented in a loud whisper.

"Base from Thunderbird Three, come in," Alan called.

"Base here, Thunderbird Three, go ahead." Jeff shook his head slightly. _I hope the other guy looks worse than he does._

"The station personnel have taken care of Leeds, and have put both him and the Frenzy under lock and key. Alpha is on his way back from observing the process. But we have another problem."

"Another?" Jeff groaned. "What is it this time, Sigma?"

"It's Rho," Alan said. "We found him dozing while sitting on the floor of the sickbay. He was supposed to be guarding the patients and keeping an eye on them medically. I woke him up and he seems to be alert now. Fortunately there didn't seem to be any change in the patients' conditions."

"Hmm. Let me talk to him," Jeff said, turning to his computer. "Rho from International Rescue base, do you read?"

A CGI representation of Brains popped up in a window on Jeff's screen. "Rho h-here. Go, uh, ahead, base."

"Is there a problem? Sigma says you dozed off."

"N-No, no p-problem, sir. Just, uh, a b-bit sleepy, that's a-all. I'm awake n-now."

"Good. Just stay awake for us, okay? The patients will need you on the trip back."

"F-A-B," Brains replied, stifling a yawn. "Rho, uh, out."

"Commander?" Tin-Tin called quietly. When Jeff looked her way, she continued, "Rho has been working very hard lately. Possibly too hard. There are so many projects on his plate right now and all of them seem to be of equal and high priority." She glanced down at her hands. "I'm afraid I haven't been as much help as I should be, with the new uniform project and all." Raising her eyes to meet his, she sighed. "He could really use some more help and he's been waiting on you to decide whether or not to approach his friend, Dr. Macias."

Lou looked from Jeff to Tin-Tin and back again, a pleased smile on her lips. "You're thinking of recruiting Dee?"

The commander sat back in his chair and sighed. "Yes, but let's discuss it when we don't have an open comm channel, please."

"F-A-B," Lou replied, a little smirk on her face.

Tin-Tin caught it and thought, _Mrs. Myles seems to be having fun with that code word. I wonder if Mr. Tracy will be recruiting her, too?_

xxxx

"Pull back! Pull back! It's going down!" Captain Jules Juvenal called into his communicator. The warehouse was nearly gutted by now; all they could do was keep pouring water on the fire so it wouldn't spread to its neighbors on either side. There was a loud crash, and a portion of the front wall collapsed inward, sending the flames shooting higher into the air.

Sweaty, soot-covered, and eyes stinging from smoke despite her face mask, Brigitte Andersen held tightly onto the fire hose, helping ground it so that the man in front of her, Charlie, could aim it at the flames without losing control. It was the biggest fire Unity City had seen so far this year and it lit the early morning sky, the glow of the flames visible for kilometers. Brigitte wondered fleetingly if it was arson for she knew something about the building that her fellow firefighters did not; it had been the scene of a vicious double murder just weeks before, a murder that she was involved in, though indirectly.

_At least there was no one inside,_ she thought thankfully. _The loss of an empty building is nothing compared to the loss of a life._

Elsewhere in the city, Renée Baptiste, IR Agent 38, watched the fire's glow from the balcony of her apartment. She sipped some hot herbal tea, hoping that the concoction would help her sleep. She had awakened to the sound of the sirens as the local fire tenders passed by her building, on the way to the blaze. _I wonder if Brigitte's station was called, and if she was on duty? I feel I know little about her; we were and are just getting to know one another. Still, I worry. We have International Rescue in common, and that makes us sisters of a sort. I will have to email her and ask her to me call later._

Thousands of miles above the Earth, someone else was wondering and worrying about Brigitte. Thunderbird Five's computer sorts through calls from all over the world, and anything with the words "rescue", "help", and several dozen other code words, are flagged and filtered through to the space monitor, who listens to see if the mighty Thunderbirds will need to be launched. A fire in Unity City, though it had potential to be a call for his organization, normally wouldn't arouse such a high level of interest in the space monitor. Until now.

Now, John listened with more than half an ear to the chatter surrounding the blaze, his hearing attuned to the mention of one particular name. The space station rescue was winding down; his brothers and Brains had landed safely at Vancouver and were transferring the two patients to the waiting arms of the company they worked for. Within the next ten minutes, they would be airborne again, orbiting the globe once to confuse anyone who might think to track them, and hopefully freezing any devices surreptitiously planted on the red rocket. It was a precaution that had never been deemed necessary before, but their father's suddenly intense interest in security had prompted his insistence on the procedure. The lull in the rescue enabled him to listen more closely to what was going on in the early morning hours at Unity City.

"Thunderbird Five and base from Thunderbird Three." Alan's voice cut through his worry and dragged his attention back to the matter at hand. "Standing down from rescue, 00:04 hours local time. We are lifting off from Leading Edge pharmaceuticals. ETA to base, forty-eight minutes."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Three," came Jeff's deep voice. "See you soon."

"F-A-B," John replied. The call for stand down meant John was officially off-duty, though he never truly felt as if he was until his brothers were home safe and sound. But this time he felt he could take a moment to warm up a prepackaged meal from the cryofreezer, eat, then come back out to listen some more to the fire and police communications out of Unity City.

"I'll take it now," Brigitte called, giving Charlie a heavy tap on the shoulder. It was draining to hold on to the end of the hose, to keep the nozzle that spewed forth water under such strong pressure aimed where it would do the most good. It was draining and it could be boring, but it was never the "quick, get in and get out" rescue runs that finally wore the fire down and removed its threat. It was the steady stream of water from hoses just like the one she held now and the constant, vigilant, wearying duty that kept the stream flowing.

She smiled slightly. This was her job, her career, and she couldn't think of anything else she'd rather be doing. If she spared a thought for the young man from International Rescue, it was a fleeting one. It was time to be focused on the here and now, on the fire, the smoke, and the water. When she got back to the station, back to her home, she could and would think about him. But not now.

John listened intently to the chatter, small reactions crossing his face every time he heard her particular company mentioned. He was sure she was working, and hoped she was okay. As his tension increased, he realized he needed something to do, something to keep his mind off of her very present danger. Glancing at his computer terminal, he decided that, yes, it was time for another email, one that told her what he had heard and how he had felt knowing she was out there, doing her job, expressing in inadequate words the worry he felt.

xxxx

Jeff perused the data pad that Tin-Tin had given him, put down his fork, and frowned. _She's right. Brains **is** working too hard. All of the security upgrades have fallen to him with the exception of the Heads Up tech for the visors; Tin-Tin's taken that on as part of the overall uniform upgrade. I need to prioritize this list for him so he'll be able to back off on a couple of projects._

Getting up, he piled his supper dishes onto the small serving cart that Kyrano had left behind. He returned to his computer, pulling up the reports that had been forwarded to him on Deirdre Macias._ Things look good here, but... I'm just not sure. She's married and has children, and if anything were to happen to her because of us... after Peter's death I've begun to re-evaluate the part that agents with families play in our organization. How can I ask people like Dr. Macias, or even Kenny Malone, to put their lives on the line when the future of their families may be so terribly affected? _He sighed._ I guess I'll have to be careful about what I ask of them. _

A slight noise made him look up and he smiled to see Lou enter the lounge, carefully carrying a tray with two cups of coffee and two pieces of apple pie. She met his gaze and smiled back. "I offered to bring dessert to you, and Kyrano accepted before your mother could say anything."

Jeff chuckled, and took first the cup and saucer, then the plate of warm pie from her. "This will hit the spot... several spots, in fact." Taking a sip of his coffee, he asked, "How was dinner?"

"Interesting. Your mother had Kenny telling us all about his family. That man can talk when you give him the right subject, and his wife and daughter are among those subjects!" Lou said, sitting down in a chair close to the desk with her own coffee and pie. "How much longer until Thunderbird Three is back?"

"Current ETA puts them back within the next fifteen minutes," Jeff replied. He forked up a piece of pie. "Are you worried about your cats?"

"Yes, a little. Part of me wants to be there when the ship gets back, and part of me says, 'Girl, you'll be all over claw marks if you are'." She thoughtfully chewed her bite of apples and crust. "Mmm. I've always said your mother makes the best apple pie."

"Yes, and it seems she's pulled out all the stops this time," Jeff said, having tasted his own dessert. "This is the best she's made in a long time. She must be feeling her old self again."

"I'm glad she is. You seemed so concerned about her when we reconnected."

Jeff sipped his coffee while Lou watched him. Finally he said, "I was. Very concerned. I had been given a look at her relative fragility and her mortality." He trained his gaze on his pie. "I still need to talk to her about... final arrangements. But there never seems to be a good time."

"There never will be, Jeff," Lou said softly. "I know. I keep wishing I had talked these things over with my Dad before the dementia got a good hold." She shook her head slowly. "I don't know if Shelly talked to him or not. I hope so."

"Hmph," Jeff grunted in response. He applied himself to the pie again, putting the subject aside with a mental note to find time to talk to his mother soon. Lou watched him a few moments more, then went back to her own dessert.

"How's Shelly?" he asked, out of the blue.

Lou slowly huffed out a breath. "Okay, I guess. Rachel's last email said Shell's supposed to go home tomorrow, or today, or whatever day it is over there. She'll be out of work for another two weeks, then on light duty until the physical therapist clears her for regular duty." She scowled at her coffee. "Damn Franks! I... I'm glad he's dead. If anyone needed killing, he did."

Jeff gazed at Lou in silence. They hadn't had much opportunity to talk about what had happened in Maine, and though Jeff knew that Shelly, through Rachel, had told her sister about her ordeal in detail, Lou hadn't shared that with him. He only knew what he had gleaned from the Portland papers, and what local agents Paul and Angela had sent him at his request. He had also been getting reports from Renée Baptiste on Franks's Unity City connection. But as the incident's news-worthiness diminished, the sources of information dried up. The one thing that Paul in particular warned him of was that the police were looking high and low for Lou, both as a possible victim, and as a suspect.

His thoughts were interrupted by a beeping. Alan's portrait became active as he asked, "International Rescue base from Thunderbird Three, requesting permission to land."

Jeff put down his plate and pulled up the window on his computer that showed a scan of the surrounding area. There was no activity in the vicinity, no sea or air traffic, so Jeff replied, "Thunderbird Three from base. Permission granted, and welcome home." He heard the clinking of china and realized that Lou had put down her food and drink.

She smiled at him as she stood and moved toward the balcony. "I want to see this... but from a distance this time."

"Wait up. I'll join you."

The two of them walked onto the balcony and stood close together, leaning on the rail nearest the Round House. They both looked up to see the outline of Thunderbird Three moving towards the ground, chemical rockets firing to slow its descent, easing it downward, speed visibly diminishing as it approached the eye of the needle. The rockets flared brightly, shining off her hull, cutting velocity to a crawl as they pushed against the force of gravity, smoke and fumes fanning out in all directions, over and under the building. There was a dark hole beneath the space ship now, and its upper, inside edge was lit by the fiery exhaust, then the ship slipped smoothly through the opening, wreathed momentarily by the reflection of the flames and by the vapors they produced, then the hole sealed shut, and only the tendrils of smoke remained.

"How the hell does Alan _do_ that?" Lou asked in awe. "I mean, getting it airborne is one thing, but landing like that? God, he's got to be so... precise or he'll take out the building!"

Jeff's pride in his son was evident in his voice as he replied, "There's more to it than just that, too. He has to set each nacelle onto its own blast duct inside the silo so Three is set for the next launch." He paused for a moment and smiled at her. "Alan's a fine pilot and he's had lots of practice over the years. Both he and John are very, very good at what they do."

"So, how long until they get upstairs?" she asked, turning her attention to his face.

"It will take a bit. They have to wait until the silo clears of heat and exhaust before they can disembark." Jeff glanced back at the lounge, and she turned to follow his gaze. "They'll come straight up to the lounge."

"The couch thingy?"

Jeff chuckled. "Yes. The couch thingy."

He made no move to return to the lounge, but leaned with his elbows on the rail, his fingers laced loosely together. She had her elbows there, too, but her forearms folded one over the other, hands lightly resting on the opposite arm just above the joint. She was examining the dark sky and the myriad bright stars that shone above the island, the constellations unfamiliar to her. "This place is so peaceful," she murmured. "Nothing to really disturb one. Just the sound of the waves... the wind..." her voice got a bit louder and took on a wry tone, "...the occasional rocket launch..."

Her sudden, droll comment made Jeff laugh. She joined him, chuckling over the humor of the situation. When the laughter had wound down, he commented, "Yes, it's peaceful... unless Gordon's played some particularly inspired prank on one of his brothers. Then you'd think you were at the zoo listening to the howler monkeys or something."

She grinned and chuckled again. Jeff turned around and leaned his back against the rail, hands supporting him, his legs extended and crossed at the ankles. "So... have you given any thought to my offer?"

Her grin simmered down to a small smile as she looked over at him. "Yes." She turned her eyes again to the night.

"And?" he prodded, turning his face from her to gaze down the length of the balcony.

She sighed lightly and turned to him again. "I said that I'd consider it when the situation with Franks was under control. And with his death, I consider that problem resolved." Standing up, she mimicked his stance, leaning back against the railing but folding her arms across her chest. "My only reservation about becoming an agent for International Rescue is that I don't know that I'd be much help until I returned to the States. Which is something that I really can't do at this point."

"You were a great help to us during this rescue," Jeff pointed out, uncrossing his ankles and scuffing the sole of his shoe along the cement surface of the balcony.

"I suppose I was," Lou said with a shrug. "But how often do your sons run into a situation like that one?"

"Not often," Jeff admitted. He paused then said, "Actually, I don't think they ever have before this."

"So, knowing that, how much help do you think I would be here on the island?" she asked, holding her hands out in a questioning gesture.

"Actually, Lou, I think you could be a great help," Jeff countered. "We're still trying to work the kinks out of our security procedures and you'd be a great resource, you and your experience in surveillance. You know what to look for, how others would gather information on us, and can help us deflect the kind of leaks that showed up on that damned disk. And you know how to research, to collect the kind of intelligence we'll need to help us defeat whatever machinations Belah Gaat has in store for us. Normally, we'd turn to Brains or to Penelope for such intelligence, but after looking at the list of projects Tin-Tin handed me, I think Brains has far too much on his platter right now, especially with the security upgrades. And Penelope? She's still trying to decide whether to stay or go. I don't feel I can call on her right now." He looked down at the toes of his shoes. "We need you, Lou."

He stopped, folding his arms as she had, unable to continue with what he really wanted to say. They hadn't talked much about the change in their relationship, but just let things go on as they had before, with just the easy friendship seemingly still in place. But things _were _different; they both knew it.

"International Rescue needs me?" Lou asked in a low voice, clasping her hands together loosely in front of her. "Or... does its _commander_ need me?"

There was a long pause, then Jeff said in a hesitant but intense voice, "Both. Professionally and... personally."

He turned his head toward her as she moved closer and slid her hand lightly down his arm from shoulder to wrist. He felt her fingers questing in his palm and he dropped his arms, taking her hand in his.

"If that's the way it is, Jeff, then... you can count me in," she murmured.

Just then the pleasant tension that had been building between them was shattered as the door from the lounge opened and Alan leaned out, his form silhouetted by the lights within the room. They quickly broke their grip, each sighing in frustration.

"Oh, hey!" Alan said. Turning his head back towards the room, he called, "Dad's out here, Scott. With Aunt Lou."

The couple exchanged brief, sympathetic glances, and each smiled slightly. Then Jeff strode towards the lounge, greeting his son, his father/commander persona firmly back in place, with Lou following a few paces behind, intending to collect the remains of her dessert and leave the Tracys to their 'family business'.


	6. Welcome to the team!

_Author's Note:_ The debriefing, Penny takes up an old habit, Scott listens to his messages, and Rachel finds an interesting photograph. Information on kelp found in the _Wikipedia_. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

This chapter is dedicated to _ArtisticRainey_. She knows why.

Now for those who reviewed the current chapters _of Overtures_:

**ColoRadO: **I'm glad you liked the bit between Jeff and Lou at the end. What will Grandma say, indeed!

**Claudette: **I'm glad you feel a connection with the other agents that are involved. I hope that the other original characters will be as interesting, especially as the saga goes on. As far as Virgil and Penelope are concerned, she still needs time to think... about everything. And it didn't even dawn on me that they should shove the drug out the airlock, but then, as you say, there would no proof against the bad guys and IR could get in trouble for destroying evidence.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

Lou's intentions of leaving the Tracys to conduct the rescue debriefing without her were foiled when Jeff asked her to sit in. They discussed it around the dining room table, allowing the hungry rescue team to eat while describing the rescue. A tired and stressed out looking John sat in via Jeff's laptop and a camera that beamed the real time images to Thunderbird Five. 

"Did you have any trouble with Harris on the way back to Earth?" Jeff asked.

Brains shook his head. "None. H-He regained, uh, consciousness at one point, b-but was very disoriented and in pain. The, uh, allergic shock p-patient also came to, and I was a-able to keep her, uh, comfortable."

"I hope that the people who were on that stuff will forget what happened," Alan commented. "I think some of them will be really embarrassed by what they did."

Jeff glanced over at Lou, and those around the table followed his gaze. Suddenly on the spot, Lou started, then shook her head quickly. "Uh, no, Alan. They won't forget."

"They won't?" Scott asked, sounding dubious.

"No. The appeal of this drug is it makes whatever sexual activity that occurs look like it's consensual," Lou explained. "Even if one of the parties would normally resist, this drug breaks down that resistance so that they will participate with seeming eagerness. And because the memory of it is clear, there's the perception that the person who has been drugged can't say it was rape." She sighed. "The laws haven't caught up with this one yet, I'm afraid, except to declare it highly illegal. Nor has a totally accurate test for it been created. There are a couple of tests that _can_ detect it, but they must be administered within a short period of time after the effects wear off. They're not foolproof, and for this situation, they have to be." She shrugged. "Like I mentioned to the Commander, I hope they have a lot of 'morning after' pills up there. They're going to need them."

"And possibly a counselor," Scott added. When everyone looked at him, he explained, "Some of those people might have difficulty dealing with an unexpectedly altered sexual orientation."

The groan around the table was universal.

Jeff glanced at each of his operatives in turn. "Anything else?" When there was a general shaking of heads and murmurs of "No", Jeff said, "F-A-B. I'll declare this debriefing over." People began to stretch and rise to leave when the commander suddenly remarked, "Before you go, I have an announcement to make." Attention turned back to him, and those who had begun to stand either finished rising, or sat back down.

His blue eyes traveling around the table, Jeff licked his lips and cleared his throat. "I, uh, I would like to announce that our guest," he gestured to Lou with a hand, "has agreed to become an agent for IR. More details will be forthcoming as they are worked out, but I hope you will all welcome her to our ranks. Okay, you're dismissed."

He glanced around again to gauge the response of his team to the announcement. Alan looked mildly surprised. Brains glanced over at Lou, peering at her through tired eyes. Scott had a thoughtful look on his face, but he nodded, and gave Lou a small smile. John, who Jeff could not see very well from his vantage point, had an expression of pleasant surprise and a grin. He even gave Lou a thumbs up, which made her smile back at him. Virgil, who sat next to Lou, stood and solemnly offered his hand. Gordon, dragged up from the depths of the pod vehicle repair bay to sit in on the debriefing, quipped, "And here I thought you weren't our usual 'babe found on the beach'!"

"She isn't. She went home, remember?" Alan replied as he got up from his seat.

"Yes, I did," Lou affirmed. "And I expect to go home again at some point."

Tin-Tin put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a quiet, "Welcome to the team," as she left the room.

The others followed, giving Lou their own congratulations and welcome in passing. Jeff turned to John. "Anything you need up there, Epsilon?"

"No, Commander. I'm ready to shut down." The space monitor glanced over at Lou again. "You're going to make a great agent. Welcome to the team!"

"Thanks, Epsilon," Lou replied with a smile.

"Thunderbird Five out."

"Brains?" Jeff called, catching the engineer before he could leave the room.

Brains stopped, smothering a yawn. "Y-Yes, Mr. Tracy?"

Jeff went to join the engineer by the dining room door. "No lab for you tonight. It's been brought to my attention that you've got too much on your plate right now and you've been working too hard. Get a good night's sleep, then I want to see you in my office first thing after breakfast to discuss a prioritizing of your current projects and bringing Dr. Macias on board."

"M-Mr. Tracy," Brains began in an apologetic tone. "I'm s-sorry for, uh d-dozing off..."

"No, Brains. I'm the one who should apologize," Jeff said firmly. "And I do. I'm sorry I haven't kept a better eye on your workload and that I've stalled over Dr. Macias." He put a hand on the engineer's shoulder. "With the sheer number of jobs you're juggling now, I shouldn't have sent you on this mission."

"A-Apology, uh, accepted," Brains replied, stifling another yawn.

One side of Jeff's mouth quirked up into a lopsided smile. "Thank you. Now, get a good rest and see me in the morning. That's an order."

"F-A-B," the engineer said with a small smile. He yawned again, and included Lou as he said, "G-Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Brains," Lou repeated a split second after Jeff uttered it. Brains departed, leaving the commander, his new agent, and the family retainer in the room.

"Do you need any help?" Lou moved to pile some of the dirty plates up for Kyrano.

He glanced up at her and smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Myles. I appreciate your assistance. And, may I say, welcome to the team."

"Thank, Kyrano," she replied, stacking saucers and empty coffee cups. "I hope I know what I've gotten myself into here."

"You will make an excellent agent," the retainer said as he picked up two of the empty serving dishes and piled them on the cart he had brought out. He glanced over at his employer, who was busy shutting down the computer and camera. "I believe I have this under control. Perhaps Mr. Tracy could use your assistance now."

Lou glanced over at Jeff, too, then back to Kyrano. "Are you sure?"

The retainer nodded. "Yes."

She took the pile of saucers and cups to the cart, then joined Jeff at the end of the table. As he removed the camera from its tripod and put it away, Lou took the support itself and collapsed the legs, handing it to him when he looked up from the camera's carrying case.

"Oh, thanks," he said as he took the device and slipped it into its slot.

"You're welcome," she replied. She moved the few steps back to the table and began to unplug the few connecting cables. "Do you burn these sessions to disk as they go along?"

"Yes, I do," Jeff said, taking a cord from her and wrapping it up neatly for storage. "I also edit them into a text only report for our official logs. John sends a copy of the talkback from Thunderbird Five, which is added to the log file, and each operative gives an account from his or her point-of-view, along with equipment repairs and other minutiae. Between all the records we can get a pretty accurate picture of what went on during the rescue." He closed up the laptop. "It helps us keep ourselves accountable to each other, and keeps us from making the same mistakes twice... we hope." He looked around at the dining room. All of the equipment had been packed away, the dishes were stacked on the cart, and Kyrano was wiping down the table. "Well, let's get this equipment back up to the lounge."

Lou had already slung the camera bag over her shoulder. "Yes. Let's."

As they climbed the steps to the upper level, Jeff said, "I hope you weren't... uncomfortable with my making the announcement about your joining the team. I just felt that the time was right to mention it."

"No, that was fine," she replied. "I was a bit surprised, especially since the details hadn't been worked out yet, but it was okay. I was more concerned with what the others thought about my being brought in on the debriefing. After all, at that point, I don't think anyone knew that I had even been asked, never mind had accepted."

"True," he admitted. "But I thought that since you had been such a help during the rescue itself, it was natural that you be in on the debriefing."

"I see," Lou replied. They entered the study and passed through it to the lounge. Jeff strode over to the cabinets behind his desk and unlocked one, then reached out for the camera case. She handed it over, and he slipped it inside. He put his laptop on the recess in the desk, plugging it into its various ports, then sent the desk upwards toward its space in the ceiling.

"Security measure?" she asked as her gaze followed the rising desktop. She stopped to look back at him, raising an eyebrow as she spoke.

"Yes," he replied. "Plus it clears a little space as well."

She glanced up at the desk once more, but made no comment. Jeff had the distinct impression that she was slightly amused.

"Uh, can I walk you back to the Round House?" he offered.

A slow smile spread over her face. "I was hoping you'd ask. And if you didn't, I would have asked you to."

He returned the smile, and led the way to the glass door which opened onto the balcony. She followed, and as she passed through, she asked wryly, "I wonder what your mother will say when she finds out I'm going to be an agent?"

Jeff closed his eyes and put his fingers to his forehead as if in pain, shaking his head slowly. "Let's not think about that now. I'm sure I'll be hearing_ all _about it from her in the morning."

Lou chuckled and took his arm as they descended the gracefully curved staircase to the pool level.

xxxx

Scott didn't even turn on the overhead light as he sat down heavily on his bed. He was bushed. The rescue had taken a lot more out of him than usual, and there had been the added problem of his body reacting in ways that had made him very uncomfortable and, he had to admit, rather disgusted with himself. His disgust wasn't because of the reaction itself, but because of who had engendered it in him.

_That redhead was definitely not my type! She reminded me of the geeky girls who used to try to attract me in high school. All buck teeth, braces, acne, and glasses with not a shred of sex appeal among them! But, God help me, this one was showing just enough skin... in all the right places... with that thong panty... _He groaned as he put his face in his hands. _And what she and her boyfriend were doing! God, it's been much too long since I've done that._

He flopped back, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to blot out the memory of what he had seen. Finally, he dropped his hands and looked up. As he did, his peripheral vision caught the reflection of a reddish light on the white of the ceiling, blinking in a steady pattern. He turned his head to the left, and realized it came from his satellite phone, which sat on his night stand. He groaned again, then rolled over to reach for the device.

Rolling onto his back once again, he hit the backlight on the tiny screen and thumbed through the caller ID on his few messages.

_Click_.

"Telemarketer."

_Click. _

"Who the hell is _that_?" He stopped long enough to listen to the recording. "Oh. Wrong number."

_Click. _

"Melissa!"

He sat up abruptly, and listened to Melissa's message. When the recording stopped, Scott looked at his clock. "Eleven-thirty? Good time to call her." He turned on the light, put on a fresh polo shirt, and sat down in his easy chair to return Melissa's call.

xxxx

"Hallo out there."

Lady Penelope glanced over at the figure who was stepping through the sliding doors to the patio. "Hello, Mr. Southern. Care to join me?"

"If I'm not being a bother," Southern said with a smile. He watched as she put a cigarette into a long, black holder, and quickly whipped out his lighter to ignite the end. "I had thought you'd given up smoking," he commented.

"I had," she replied. "But the stress I have been under lately has made it appealing again." She gave him a small smile. "That, and the aroma of fine pipe tobacco that has lingered here in the courtyard."

"My abject apologies, Penelope," Southern said in a sincere tone. "I had no idea I would be leading you into temptation."

"Hmm," she murmured dispassionately. She took a deep draught on the holder, and blew the smoke out softly. Her eyes were fixed on the sky, on the thousands of stars that shone in the blackness above her. The moon was rising, a large yellow crescent climbing above the ridges that made up the valley where Bongo-Bongo lay, shrinking as it gained height. Penny resolutely kept her eyes away from the moon; something within her equating Lady Luna with the object of her spurned affections, who had walked on that austere surface and returned to tell the tale.

The silence that lay between her and her current companion was heavy, as heavy as the warmth still radiating from the tiles and walls of the patio. Southern prepared his pipe, and lit it, the sudden flare of his lighter momentarily capturing the aristocrat's startled attention. He puffed on his bent briar, the tobacco within the round bowl flaring red at first, then settling down into a dull crimson surrounded by blackened leaves.

"You mean to leave in the morning?" Penelope asked, her eyes turned back to the stars.

"I'm afraid so, Penelope. I've been away from my post for far too long and my superiors are adamant that I return." That was putting a good face on it; the last two calls he had received from his immediate supervisor were couched in language far better suited for the gutter.

There was another shorter space, then Penelope asked, "Have you decided what you will tell your superiors?"

"Yes. I have."

Penelope folded her arms, her cigarette holder standing at horizontal attention between the first two fingers of her right hand. "And what, may I ask, will you say?"

Southern removed the pipe from his mouth and said, "That both you and Parker persisted in your story about the pirates and neither of you had any idea how Mr. Riordan's blood came to be on his Excellency's beach." He paused, then added, "And I shall pass your question along to my colleagues in Unity City."

There was a soft exhalation of relief from her Ladyship, and her shoulders relaxed just a touch. She turned to him, the lights from the interior of the house showing her genuine smile as she replied, "Thank you, Mr. Southern. Thank you so _very_ much."

xxxx

Scott's right foot did a muffled tattoo on the carpeted surface of his bedroom floor as he waited for Melissa to respond to his call. He already had his earplug and boom mike in place, the equipment feeling lighter and more comfortable than what he had used a few hours ago. At last the ringing stopped, and a familiar, Eire-accented voice wafted into his ear.

"Hallo? Scott, is that you?"

"Yeah, Mel, it's me. I just got your message."

"Hold up." Melissa took a moment to kiss Quinn on the head, and break up an argument between Kaylie and P.J. before mouthing, "It's the phone", to her mother, and heading out toward the garage. "I'm sorry, Scott. The children were being... children, and I just had to get out and away from the noise. My mum is watching them, so they're all right." She quickly set up the earphone and mike she had purchased for the phone, and slipped into the wooden structure. "You look tired. What time is it where you are?"

"It's late," Scott hemmed. "But it's not a problem. How are you doing?"

She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. "Oh, Scott, you would just not believe what is happening here. I feel like I'm being treated like a child all over again. My Da is already talking about my finding another husband; for the sake of the children, he says. As if a brand new father is going to help them get over the loss of... of Peter." She shook her head. "My family has already decided that I'm to stay here so the children will be close to their grandparents, this despite the fact that I've already told them I want to go back to Unity City!" She paused. "I've had a few rounds with my Da about that, I can tell you."

"Whoa! Whoa! Slow down, Mel!" Scott said, giving her a wide Tracy smile. "Let me wrap my head around this. You say your father won't _let _you go back to Unity City? What say does he have in it? And what are you going to do about your property there? What about your belongings?"

"He_ thinks _he has a say because we're under his roof at the moment." Mel's chin went up and she tossed her head, pushing back her red curls with a tanned hand. "He wants me to sign a power of attorney so he can hire a lawyer down there to take care of things for me, and plans on hiring someone to crate up our things to ship here. Needless to say, I haven't signed anything."

"That's rather cold of him," Scott said with a frown. "And presumptuous. What do Peter's folks have to say?"

"According to my Da, Peter's people have no say in the matter. He says I am no longer related to them," Melissa said bluntly. Her voice softened as she added, "I haven't spoken with them since the funeral."

"What the hell...? Your father is loopy, and I mean it, Mel! Of_ course _you're still related to them, in every sense of the word, including legally. I mean, the kids are their grandchildren, too." Scott asked. "Do you think they would understand and help you? Could that be the reason why you dad is being so... anal?"

"I don't know, Scott." Melissa's face took on a weary and sad expression. "I thought they were such grand mates, y'know? But now my Da won't have anything to do with Peter's family." She shrugged and looked away, a helpless gesture. "Maybe there's been some change in one side or the other, some falling out over politics or faith. The troubles still run deep here, Scott, and they can divide the best of friends."

"I remember Peter telling me that," Scott replied with a knowing nod.

She straightened up to look at Scott's picture squarely. "It's the reason why, after our marriage, Peter emigrated to Unity City, taking me with him. He didn't want our children to have to deal with the troubles. He wanted our children to live in a place where it didn't matter what your political party was, or your religion, or the color of your skin, and if anywhere in the world is like that, Unity City is."

She ran her fingers back through her hair. "Maybe Da thought that Jimmy couldn't control his son. I mean, Jimmy decided Peter had abandoned the family twice, first with the RAF, then by moving away. That's why they were estranged." She shrugged. "Peter was the younger son, but he was the better educated one, and the Riordan's family business was supposed to fall to him. Until he left, that is. But now, when Jimmy passes on, Sean will take over the business."

Scott gazed at her for a moment, then ventured softly, "Maybe your dad just doesn't want to 'lose' you the way that the Riordan's 'lost' Peter."

"Maybe. But I agreed, and still agree, with Peter's choice. I don't want our children to grow up like I did, where if you're one shade off the political spectrum from your neighbor, it can earn you scorn and harassment," Melissa said stoutly. "I am a citizen of Unity City. And I'll remain one unless someone gives me a compelling reason not to be."

"I get the picture, Mel. And I approve," Scott said, his voice and face sympathetic. "What can I help you with? Besides being a listening ear, that is."

Melissa sighed, and gave him a wan smile. "Oh, I don't know. Just listening to me rant is helping. I do want to know how to password protect this phone. My Da is not above rummaging through my things, and I do not want him trying to harass my friends, or erasing their phone numbers."

"You father is a piece of work, Mel," Scott said, glowering a bit. "I'll tell you how to password protect it, sure. And if you need anything else, just tell me. I mean that, Mel. Even if you need funds to get back to Unity City... whatever it is, I'm here for you and the kids. For Peter's sake."

Mel's smile grew warmer. "That's so sweet of you, Scott. I'll remember it, I promise." She got a mischievous glint in her eye, and she said, "Now, tell me what I want to know."

Scott gazed at her puzzled for a moment, and she pointed at the phone, her knuckle looking large in the screen. He hit his forehead, and said, "Ohhh. Okay. Here's how to do it. First, you click on the menu button..."

xxxx

Jeff and Lou had reached the outer door to the Round House, the one that led into the common room. Their talk on the way there had been mostly business; working their way through some of the details of her coming on as an agent, and discussing how best to bring Deirdre Macias into the loop.

"She's got to have the freedom to tell Reynaldo, and to do it with full knowledge of what they're getting into," Lou told him. "He's going to be a major factor in her deciding to come in. They've got a good partnership going in their marriage, and she _will_ consult him."

"That's part of the reason why I'm hesitant to bring her in as an IR agent," Jeff countered. "I'd rather have her under the Tracy Industries aegis but working on projects that would benefit IR. It would be less dangerous for her and her family."

"She's probably going to need to see the specs of the Thunderbirds at some time, Jeff," Lou reminded him. "And she's sharp enough to figure out what she's looking at. There are enough toys out there that are supposed to approximate your vehicles, or at least Thunderbirds One and Two." She snorted a laugh. "In fact, she complained about the quality of one her mother bought for the kids. Told me flat out that if the real thing looked anything like the toy, it was a miracle that it could fly."

Jeff laughed. "I've seen some of those and bought them for the boys, just to show them how the public sees their craft. Scott was highly offended, but Virgil thought his was funny, and displayed it on his piano for a while. Gordon and Alan were miffed that they didn't have toys approximating Thunderbirds Three and Four, but John was rather relieved that they didn't have Three... or Five," He glanced at her with a thoughtful frown. "I'm surprised that one of the people from whom your late colleague collected information didn't submit sketches or the like to a toy company."

"The toy companies probably would have avoided it like the plague. After all, they wouldn't want to tread on the toes of International Rescue when it came to licensing their image. For all they know, IR could have a crack legal team out there looking for such 'trademark and copyright violations', especially in the wake of those imposters," Lou said with a grin. "Besides, if someone thought they actually had _real_ plans to the Thunderbirds, think of what kind of security mess that'd be." She shook her head. "It's better that they try to approximate the craft and call them different names. Keeps the kids happy and avoids a legal wrangle."

Now they were at the end of their walk and it was time to say their reluctant goodnights.

"See you for our run in the morning?" Jeff asked, his voice getting a little deeper.

"Sure," Lou confirmed, her own voice growing softer around the edges. "Meet you on the beach as usual?"

"As usual," Jeff echoed, nodding.

She reached up and lightly brushed his temple with her fingers, then cupped her hand to his cheekbone as he leaned in to kiss her gently on the lips. His hand rested on the side of her neck as they kissed again, then drew apart.

"Goodnight, Jeff," Lou said. She walked to the door, then turned back to give him a little wave.

"Goodnight, Lou," Jeff replied. He stepped down a few stairs, and glanced back to watch her go inside. Then he jogged down the rest of the rungs, and sauntered back to the main villa, his hands in his pockets and whistling.

xxxx

Early morning in Maine, and Rachel Clarendon was cramming for a test. She had studied some the evening before, but the excitement and relief of her mother's discharge from the hospital had claimed a good deal of her attention. As a result, she felt the need to go over the terms one more time before leaving the house with her father. She flipped through her marine biology textbook, looking for the particular chapter, then realized she'd overshot her mark. Muttering an expletive under her breath, she began to turn back the pages, when she noticed a picture that brought her exercise to a screeching halt.

"What the hell?" she murmured as she flipped one page over, bringing her to the picture that had grabbed her attention.

It was a color photograph of two divers, both male, suspended in the slightly shady waters just below the canopy of a kelp forest. One of them was looking at the plants, gazing away from the camera, but the other faced the lens boldly, the eyes filled with sparkling mischief even behind the face mask. There was no mistaking the build or the bit of coppery hair that was flowing upwards, caught and frozen forever in the picture. The caption read, "Undersea farmers have found kelp to yield a bountiful harvest, especially when one considers the quick growth of the plants and the variety of products that use kelp or kelp ash."

She shook her head in disbelief. "It's him!" she muttered, followed immediately by, "But it can't be him!" Keeping a finger at the page, she turned to the photographic credits at the back of the book, and made a mental note of the cameraman's name.

"Ready to go, Rachel?" her father asked as he poured a cup of coffee into his travel mug.

"Yeah, I'm ready," she replied, closing the book and sliding it into her backpack. "Let me check on Mom before we go."

She darted into the living room, where Shelly had taken up residence on her release. The injured woman was sleeping on the sofa bed to spare her newly reconstructed knee the long climb upstairs. The bed was now put away for the day, and Shelly sat in a recliner, her leg propped up, a small folding table at her right covered with reading material, foodstuffs, the phone, and the televid remote. Her crutches were leaning against the opposite side of the chair for easy access.

"Will you be okay, Mom?" the daughter asked.

"Yes, yes," Shelly said, a bit irritably. "I'll be fine. Donna is coming over in half an hour and she'll help me get ready for my physical therapy appointment. I have the phone handy if I need your Dad. Go on to school."

"If you're sure..."

"I'm sure."

"Okay." Rachel leaned over to kiss her mother on the cheek. "See you later, Mom. I'll call in around lunch time."

"All right, honey. Have a good day," Shelly said with a sigh.

Chuck walked up behind Rachel, and as the young woman left the scene, he leaned in to kiss his wife on the lips. "Stay safe, love. I'll be calling in from time to time."

"I know. I'll talk to you then," Shelly replied. She waved as the remainder of her family walked out the door and on to their usual, scheduled lives.

In the car, Rachel pulled out her textbook and found the picture again. The man looked a bit younger than when she had met him, like he was in his late teens. _I'll go online and see if I can contact the photographer. I'd like to know more about this Gordon Cooper guy and why he was farming kelp._


	7. We can discuss this later

_Author's Note:_ Conversations in different time zones. Some decisions made. The incidents quoted by Ramirez come from the comic books. The Bereznik incident is from "The Trapped Spy", reprinted in the graphic novel, _Thunderbirds: Danger Zone_, 1992. More on the others later. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

Now for those who reviewed the current chapters of _Overtures_:

**Emerald Queen:** I passed the word on about Rachel; it's hard to remember that she's been around since the end of _Serendipity_! _And I did get your thank you email; sorry I was being such a dunderhead when I wrote these ANs._ Re: Scott and his choice of women. I'm of the opinion that as a teen he was handsome (he still is), and knew it, and felt he could get any girl he wanted. Some of that has probably been shaken out of him as he's matured, but high school memories still stick.

**Math Girl:** Yes, it took a while to get that situation under control, and now an attack will come from a new direction. Lou has said "yes" but what's going to follow this up is still to be determined. I was definitely thinking of _Ricochet_ when I was writing the fight scene! Grandma's initial reaction to Lou's pending agenthood in this chapter, but the lady will have more to say later as all of Jeff's plans become public. And Gordon is being researched as you will see.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

Ramirez kept his eyes on his data pad as the limousine took him and his employer back to their office block. The face of the man across from him was scowling, thunderous after his meeting with the security subcommittee. The secretary knew exactly what was wrong, and he waited for the explosion that he was sure would come. 

At last, Alvarez slapped the fine leather of the seat and muttered several words that his companion didn't quite catch, or pretended he didn't. In fact, even though Ramirez had caught the words quite clearly and had heard them before, he didn't understand them. They were in Malay, and were a sure sign of the minister's extreme frustration. It was times like these that the secretary doubted his allegiance to this man, because this was when he was confronted with the reality that this was _not_ Carlos Esteban Alvarez. This was not the man he had admired and counted as a friend. This was someone wearing his face and living his life...

He pushed the thoughts away savagely. He was on his way to the top, to power and glory, and if he had to leave his old friend behind, so be it. He glanced up at the minister, who was looking out the tinted window at the people walking along the sidewalk as they waited for a traffic light. Fernando could have sworn the man had felt his gaze, for he turned back to Ramirez, his scowl still in place.

"What is taking those fools so long?" he spat. "I want action, not more debate!"

Ramirez cleared his throat gently. "Excellency, I tried to tell you that the wording of your bill was too vague, and targeted the wrong groups. International Rescue is not considered to be a 'relief aid' organization like the Red Cross or Red Crescent. It has a unique niche, and you must define that niche, then choose those other organizations which fall closest to it in scope. Doctors Without Borders might be one such group, or perhaps Emergency Life Flight." He sat back and put down his data pad. "But they are organizations that already routinely provide the information you have outlined in your bill." Ramirez sighed. "I fear it will die in committee."

Alvarez waved a hand impatiently. "Bah! I have been patient, securing my power base, waiting until the right moment to return here. And now I am not inclined to wait on the glacial movement of government and committees. I want action, haste! Without it, International Rescue will slip through my fingers once again!"

Ramirez breathed deeply. "If you would listen to my counsel, Excellency, I have a plan that might bring International Rescue before the government as you desire."

The minister sat back, still scowling. "What is it?"

The secretary settled one knee over the other. "We must spread the idea that, somehow, International Rescue is a danger to _national_ sovereignty because it crosses national borders with impunity. We must bring forth charges that they are insensitive to the religious beliefs and customs of the countries where they go. That will cause an outcry against them from the Eastern European, Middle Eastern, and Southeast Asian blocs, including China. And we must spread the idea that this group is offering its technology to one or two of the most hated nation states. That will bring in the countries that have been most involved in disarmament. We must make the president herself see that International Rescue is a danger that must be brought under the aegis of the World Government."

Alvarez's scowl had simmered down to a thoughtful frown. "A smear campaign. Much like the one those impostors used a few years ago."

The secretary nodded, but Alvarez shook his head. "We have attempted that with the Erdman's website. It has not garnered enough attention." He scowled again. "And the cursed website is still inoperable."

Ramirez took a deep breath. "That is not enough. The site is seen by few, and the media will not touch it for fear of being accused of libel. But the impostors had the right idea; they used the media to draw attention to themselves as they pretended to be International Rescue. The true organization's secrecy worked against them. We must find a way to draw attention to the scenarios that will show the organization as we wish to paint it."

He handed his data pad to the minister. "Here are some of their activities, particularly ones regarding the Eastern European block nation of Bereznik, the Masai people, and the Kingdom of Zarabia."

Alvarez began to scroll down as Ramirez continued. "The Bereznik incident is of particular interest as there was a Russian spy involved. International Rescue extracted both him and the Bereznik leader's daughter, who was held hostage by Russia to force International Rescue's hand. But in dealing with the spy, they claimed to have destroyed the materials he had stolen. There is no proof of this, of course. Not only that, but someone dressed as one of their number tried to assassinate that country's leader, and one of the Thunderbirds destroyed an office where the head of the secret police had his offices. He was killed."

He raised a hand, palm up. "Of course, the head of the secret police was a traitor. He captured an IR operative, and sent the assassin, dressed in that man's uniform, to do his dirty work. But still..." Ramirez smiled slyly. "Until then he was a trusted member of the country's leadership."

"I see here that the World Government Air Force was involved, and the Russians appealed to the Security Council themselves," Alvarez said, a smile spreading over his face. "International Rescue claimed neutrality, and rescued both, but as you say, there was no evidence that they truly destroyed the papers that the Russian spy obtained." He glanced up at his underling. "A clear cut case of defiance to the wishes of the World Government. Excellent! We can do much with this. You are to be commended, Fernando."

"Thank you, your Excellency," Ramirez murmured. "But it would be best if this did not come from your office. An 'impartial source' must find it and publish it abroad." He made a sound of disgust. "The Erdman gang is poorly equipped to continue in their role in... our plans."

"I agree," Alvarez replied. He had noted Fernando's slight hesitation, but chose merely to file it away for now. "We will deal with them accordingly. What organization would be best suited to reveal this information to the public?"

"One of the news organizations, I should think," Ramirez suggested. "Perhaps the NTBS? Or the WWTN?"

"Not the NTBS," the minister said flatly. "Not that International Rescue sycophant, Ned Cook." He looked thoughtfully at the pad. "Perhaps Eddie Kerr of the WWTN would suit our purposes. He was first to cover the impostors." He glanced up at Ramirez. "But this is old news and he is unlikely to look into it without something fresh to pique his interest."

Ramirez smiled widely. "I have just the thing. If you would scroll down to the next tab, you will see a report from our mole at Interpol headquarters."

Alvarez applied himself to reading the report and his eyes widened. He glanced up at Fernando again and smiled. "This is wonderful! One of the bullets found at the scene of Franks's murder implicates International Rescue!" He handed the pad back to his secretary. "Have our mole 'leak' the information to the media. Be certain that Kerr hears about it first."

"Yes, Excellency." Ramirez inclined his head in respect.

The minister looked out the window again and saw that they were stopped in the secured area of the underground garage. "We have arrived at the offices. It seems Eduardo has been waiting for us to conclude our business." He pressed a button, and the door of the limousine was opened by a burly bodyguard. "I will not be accompanying you, Fernando. I will be returning home. I have a young lady to prepare for. I leave this in your capable hands."

"Yes, your Excellency," Ramirez repeated as he climbed out of the limo. "I shall attend to it immediately."

"Good. Buenos noches, then."

Eduardo closed the door on the minister, and Ramirez headed for the executive lift, briefcase in one hand and data pad in the other. The limousine pulled away behind him and he stopped to follow it with his eyes. He sighed lightly, disturbed by something but not quite sure what. Then the elevator car arrived and he stepped inside.

xxxx

Rachel sat down in the computer carrel and plugged in her laptop. She had spent her lunch hour doing research to find the name of the photographer who had taken the shot of Gordon Cooper in the kelp field. The woman was now an adjunct professor at the University of Hawaii at Manoa. She managed to find the professor's name and email address before lunch ended. Now, with time to wait for her father to pick her up on his way home from work, she scanned the picture for an attachment and began to write a letter.

_Dear Professor Palaia,_

_I was wondering if you could give me some information on Gordon Cooper, the young man who is facing the camera in the attached picture. I met him recently on a matter unrelated to marine studies and was curious about his kelp farming experiences for a paper I have coming up in my marine biology class. If you could put me in contact with him I would be very grateful. You may forward my email to him if that would be most convenient for you. _

_Thank you for your attention to this matter._

_Sincerely,_

_Rachel Clarendon_

She added her email address at the school, double checked her spelling and punctuation, then took a deep breath and clicked on "send".

_That's done, _she thought with a touch of relief. _Now to see if I get an answer._

xxxx

"Good morning, Dad," Scott said as Jeff came to the breakfast table, his hair looking slightly damp but dressed for a day of vidconferencing. "Where's our newest agent?"

Jeff shot his oldest son a look as he sat down, a glance that was a mixture of concern and surprise. Kyrano came over and unobtrusively poured Jeff a cup of steaming coffee, receiving a murmured thanks from his employer.

Scott shook his head. "Dad, it's not like we haven't seen you and Aunt Lou running on the beach every morning since she got here. Even though you come to breakfast separately, we know you've spent some time with her."

Jeff sighed slightly and his face took on a bemused expression. "I wasn't aware we were being watched."

"I wouldn't say you were being _watched_, Dad," Virgil said as he came in, still dressed in pajamas and dressing gown. "It's more like you've been... noticed."

"Yeah," Scott agreed. "It's not like we've been using field glasses to follow your progress or anything."

"Thank goodness for that," Jeff grumbled. He glanced at his timepiece. "In answer to your question, Scott, Lou should be along soon. She wanted a shower then had to feed the cats."

"What does she see in those animals?" Scott asked. He put down his fork and ran his hand over a series of short, parallel scratches on his arm. He'd received the wounds from the fluffiest of the cats while he helped transform the Round House bedroom into a living space for the four newcomers. _And all I was doing was petting the stupid thing!_

Jeff shrugged. "I don't know really. Maybe she sees them as children, and they do keep her company. She wasn't able to have any kids of her own, and living by yourself can be a lonely proposition."

"Yes, it can be," said another voice, grudgingly, as the owner came into the kitchen. "But why in tarnation did you have to bring them here, Jeff?"

"And good morning to you, Mother," Jeff replied. He got up from his chair to pull hers out for her as she joined the small group at the table. Then he sat down again. "I've explained it to you more than once, Mom. I'm not going to do it again."

Eleanor was about to make another comment when Lou walked in. "Good morning, everyone," she said, smiling. There was a smattering of responses, and Jeff rose once more to politely pull Lou's chair out for her. She thanked him as she sat down, and turned to Kyrano as the retainer poured her coffee. "Kyrano? Can I speak with you after breakfast? I need to know how and when you'll next being getting groceries. I'll be running low on cat supplies soon."

"Of course, Mrs. Myles," Kyrano replied. "I will be happy to assist you."

"Great. Thanks so much," she said, sounding relieved.

"You are welcome." The retainer inclined his head, and moved away.

Alan walked in, followed by Kenny. "Good morning, Dad, Grandma, Aunt Lou," he called cheerfully, as he sat down at the table, his mechanic sitting next to him. "Hey, Kenny! Say hello to the latest IR agent! Dad announced last night that Aunt Lou's agreed to be one." He indicated her with a wave of his hand.

"Hey," Kenny drawled, as his gaze joined everyone else's in looking at Lou. "You're going to be an agent, too?"

Lou chuckled. "Yeah, I am. Maybe you can give me some pointers, Kenny. Jeff and I have talked about it some, but I'm still not entirely sure what I'll be doing."

Jeff's peripheral vision caught the frown with which his mother favored him, a definite "Later for you," look. He ignored it and picked up his newspaper, so he didn't see the frown disappear and Eleanor smile at Lou.

"Well, this is a surprise!" she exclaimed, sounding pleasant. "Have we lost one of our New York agents?"

Jeff glanced up from his newspaper. "Actually, no, we haven't. I was thinking of a broader, more active role for Lou. One where she might be working from here."

The table went silent. His sons looked at him in surprise, and Lou's eyebrows went up. Eleanor's smile faded for a second, then she asked, "So, will she perhaps be learning to fly the Thunderbirds?"

Scott and Virgil exchanged astonished stares, then included Alan in their shock. Lou glanced at Jeff's mother in alarm. She swiveled her gaze back to Jeff, and pulled down a corner of his paper. "Jeff?"

He glanced up at her, then at his three sons, all of whom had expectant and uneasy expressions. "Oh, no. No. Lou wouldn't be flying any of the Thunderbirds."

The sense of relief was palpable. Lou breathed out. "Whew!" She turned to Eleanor with a chuckle. "You had me going there, Mrs. Tracy. It's true I've got a pilot's license, but there's no way I could handle a Thunderbird, especially Thunderbird One. That thing is faster than fast!" Waving a hand at the Tracy sons, she said, "I'll leave flying those machines to the experts." Glancing back at Jeff, immersed in the news again, she murmured, "I did think I'd be just a regular agent, like Kenny here."

"We can discuss this later," Jeff muttered from behind the paper wall. "Privately."

Gordon chose that moment to walk in. "Good morning, all." He took in the tableau before him. "Have I missed something?"

"No, son," Jeff replied hastily. "Come in and eat."

Tin-Tin soon appeared, and then Brains, looking far more rested than he had the evening before. They exchanged good mornings with the group, and sat down for breakfast. The talk around the table turned to more mundane household matters. Kenny and Alan were deep in discussion, then Alan looked toward the head of the table.

"Uh, Dad?" Alan said. "Kenny has discovered a problem with FAB-1."

Jeff put down his coffee cup. "Is it urgent?"

"Not really," Kenny said. "Though something needs to be done about it today if possible."

"Then could we discuss it after I talk to Brains?"

"Yeah, sure," the mechanic agreed.

"Then I'll let you know when I'm available."

"Dad?" Scott piped up. "I'd like to talk to you today sometime, too."

"About what, Scott?" Jeff said, sounding distracted by something he was reading.

"Well, we were going to have a chat after we, uh, rescued Aunt Lou..."

"Oh, yes. I remember now. After I talk with Kenny, okay?" He finished his last bite of omelette, and motioned for Kyrano to refill his coffee cup. "Brains, I'll see you when you're finished here." He took his cup, and tucked his paper under his arm as he left the table.

"So, Lucinda, what are your plans for the day?" Eleanor asked, applying herself to her food again.

"Well, for one thing I need to wash some clothes. Is there a place where I could do that?"

"Of course. Have Kyrano show you after breakfast."

"Thank you. I will." Lou sipped her coffee and took another bite of biscuit.

xxxx

Penelope sighed as she sipped her tea. Parker glanced up at her, curious.

"H'Is there summat th' matter, Milady?"

She smiled at him. "No, and yes, Parker." She took another sip and let her eyes travel around the room. "It seems so quiet here today." She looked down at her scones. "It's as if something were... missing."

"Mr. Southern, per'aps, Milady?"

She chuckled. "Perhaps, Parker. I did not think I would miss his presence."

There was a quiet moment where the only sound was the clink of delicate china. Then Penelope said, "Parker, please sit down. I have something I would like to discuss with you."

"Wiv me, Milady?"

"Yes, with you. Now sit down and let me pour out."

She poured her butler a cup of tea, and handed it to him as if he were an earl. Parker, unaccustomed to such deference from his employer, took the tea and sipped at it before putting cup and saucer down on the small table.

"Now," she said, sitting up very straight. "I have a decision to make concerning my status with International Rescue and I have been far too long about it." She smiled at her companion. "You, Parker, are my good right hand when it comes to my work with IR, and therefore, I would like your views on my... on _our_ continued employment." She paused. "That is, unless you would consider going it without me."

"Never, Milady!" Parker exclaimed with fervor. "H'It's one fer h'all an' h'all fer h'one 'ere, beggin' yer pardon, Milady."

"I thought as much," Penelope replied with an amused tone to her voice and a twinkle in her eye. "So, Parker, how should we proceed? Should we retire to a life of luxury and give up the shadow game? Or should we return to it, with renewed vigor and commitment."

"Well, naow," her butler remonstrated. "Th' decision's not mine ter make, beggin' yer pardon, Milady. 'Tis fer you t' say h'one way h'or th' h'other."

"Hmm. I was afraid that would be your answer," Penelope said, pouring out another cup of tea for herself. She sipped it, then asked, "If it _were_ your decision to make, what would you do?"

Parker considered the question, his bushy brows knitting together. "H'If t'were fer me ter say, Ay'd say stay. Life would be far less h'excitin' wivout H'International Rescue t' keep h'us busy." He paused. "H'An', beggin' yer pardon, Milady, Mister Tracy does need h'us. No matter wot 'is perse-h'onal feelin's h'are h'abaout ye."

Penelope's smile faded, and she looked down for a moment. "I suppose I shall have to steel myself to accept his... personal feelings, as you put it, and move on from there. I cannot... I _shall _not let them interfere with my decision."

She sipped her tea again, then Parker asked, "An' wot h'is yer decision, Milady?"

Putting down her cup, she sighed and said, "I shall stay."

Parker smiled at her. "H'A good choice, h'if Ay may say so, Milady." He was silent for a moment and asked quietly, "H'An' wot h'about Mister Virgil?"

She picked up a scone and took a delicate bite of it. "That, my dear Parker, is a decision I have yet to make."

xxxx

"Okay, Brains. As you can see, I've prioritized your current work list to what I think are the most important things. What changes to the list would you make? Which of these things are you closest to completing?"

Brains looked up at his employer from his chair beside the desk. "W-Well, Mr. Tracy. I, uh, think that bringing Deirdre in would be first. She'd be a t-tremendous help with, uh, the other projects. I had already asked her about w-working for T-Tracy Industries as a, uh, consultant."

Jeff sat back and tapped a stylus once on the desk's top. "I remember you telling me about that. Lou and I were discussing the situation last night. She feels that it would be best to reveal our operations right away, and that Dr. Macias should be allowed to discuss the decision with her husband as well. Her reasoning was that Deirdre would eventually figure things out for herself from the projects we gave her, and that no matter what the decision was to be, she would discuss it with her husband anyway." He dropped the stylus on the desk with a clatter, watching it abstractedly as he spoke. "I still feel it would be better to bring her in under Tracy Industries, at least at first, then decide later if she should be told about IR."

He sighed and met Brains's frank gaze. "I've never had a problem with agents telling their spouses about their work for us; I've always let the agents make that judgment call on their own. But with Peter Riordan's death... I've become more attuned to the impact working for IR can have on a family, if something untoward should happen." He spread his hands. "What are your thoughts on the situation?"

Brains was quiet for a moment, sifting through his ideas, looking for the words that would convey what he really felt about the situation. Then he said, slowly and clearly, "I think that if we hired her only for Tracy Industries, we would have trouble if we introduced the IR factor later on. She might feel betrayed, and pressured to take the job with IR, thinking that her position with Tracy Industries would be contingent on it. And as you say, she would discuss whatever we offered with her husband anyway. Better to be up front with her at first than risk losing her goodwill later."

"Do you feel she's a good security risk?" Jeff asked bluntly. "Is she trustworthy?"

"Lou w-would, uh, know better than I would," Brains asked, his stutter returning. "She's known her l-longer."

"Hmm." Jeff glanced over at his computer, where the background checks on Deirdre Macias shone in black and white. "Her background checks out fine. And I did do a check on her husband as well with IR in mind. That report is due back today." He turned back to Brains and smiled. "Thanks for your advice on the subject, Brains. I will make this my top priority and will get back to you within a day. Meanwhile, you start thinking about how you would pitch this to her because if we decide to bring her aboard, you're going to be the one to do it."

"Th-Thanks, Mr. Tracy," Brains said. "I'm s-sure you won't, uh, regret it."

"I hope not. Now, what of the remaining projects should be first?"

"Secure, uh, communications," Brains replied smartly. "Then camouflage and r-radar jamming for the, uh, Thunderbirds."

Jeff nodded and consulted his data pad to make the changes in the priority list.

xxxx

"Kyrano?"

The retainer looked up from where he was reading a Parisian newspaper over his own breakfast. "Oh, Mrs. Myles. There you are."

Lou smiled. "May I sit down?"

"Of course. Would you like some more coffee?"

She waved a hand. "No, thank you. I'm already fully caffeinated for the day."

"Ah, of course." He put aside the paper. "Now, how can I help you with your problem?"

"I don't know," Lou admitted, spreading her hands. "I don't know how you do things around here."

"That is to be expected." Kyrano got up and fetched a small data pad and a stylus. "We usually order non-perishable items on a monthly basis and have them shipped here. Then I take a trip at least once a week to Wellington, New Zealand, for fresh fruits and vegetables. Our meats are usually shipped cryofrozen." He smiled. "Fish, we catch... or at least, Gordon does. Though if we want a variety that is not found in our waters, we will have that shipped in as well." He looked at her, stylus poised over his pad. "What exactly do you need, and how soon will you need it?"

"Well, I have roughly three days left of canned food, and enough cat kibble for perhaps four," Lou said. "The kibble situation depends on how hungry the cats are, because I free-feed them that. But I will need some kitty litter probably sooner than that." She smiled wryly. "I clean the litter boxes daily, sometimes twice a day, but it still gets dirty faster than the cats would like--picky fur balls that they are."

"Hmm. I think I will take an emergency trip to Wellington to get you enough of what you need for a week, and place an order to be shipped here by the time the supplies run out." He made notes, then glanced up at her. "I will need brand names and particular flavors, as well as the type of cat litter you need."

"Sure. I have a list here," Lou said. She rummaged around in her jeans pockets, pulling out a folded list and handing it to him. He began to input the information as she continued, "I don't know what brands are available in New Zealand, but the cats will have to make do. Just make sure it's all paste; Spot is picky about texture, unless we're talking about people food."

"Ah! Perhaps the cats would enjoy some of the fish leftover from a meal?" he asked, his face brightening with the idea.

"Oh, yes!" Lou replied with a laugh. "They never pass up people food. Midnight likes potato chips, and Moofums will eat cheese, even though it gives her gas."

Kyrano chuckled. "A cat would not particularly care about that, would they?" He glanced over at her. "Would you like to come with me?" he asked.

She sighed. "I would, but I'd better not. Not that I think I would be recognized by the average person on the street, but customs might be another matter. I'm not sure who might be looking for me by now or how far away the hunt has extended." She shrugged. "Franks was a creep, but he was former Interpol, as I was. They'd probably be watching for me to surface."

"Very well. I will set up a flight time with one of the Tracy sons. I do fly, but I prefer to have a co-pilot if one can be spared."

"I can understand that," Lou said amiably. "Oh! Mrs. Tracy told me I should ask you where I could do my laundry. I brought some detergent with me..."

"Mrs. Myles," Kyrano said gently. "You are a guest. If you bring your laundry to me, I shall wash it for you."

Lou's shoulders slumped and she sighed. "Kyrano, I know I'm a guest and all, but... I feel like I'm imposing, too. I'd feel better if I could do my own wash." She shrugged again. "Besides, it's not like I have a whole lot of other things to do at the moment." She sat up straight and leaned toward him. "You, on the other hand, have a lot on your plate, including this special shopping trip I've just dumped on you."

Kyrano smiled slightly. "If you insist."

"On this, I do," Lou responded.

"Then I will tell you that there is a laundry area on the first floor of the Round House. From the room you are occupying, it is the fourth door on the right as you walk down the hall, away from the entertainment area."

"Thank you, Kyrano," she said in a relieved tone.

"You are welcome, Mrs. Myles. However, if you find yourself in need of assistance..."

"I will surely tell you." They were quiet for a moment, then Lou took a deep breath. "Kyrano? May I ask you something? Something personal?"

Kyrano's usually pleasant expression turned to a puzzled one. "You may ask."

"Would you please tell me about your half-brother, Belah Gaat?"

xxxx

When the mail plane came, Kenny and Alan were waiting for it with an antigravity float.

"Hey, guys!" Juan said, alighting from the cargo helijet. "I've got the monster today because of you." He turned to his co-pilot, dark-haired Gary. "Open her up, Gary!"

"Sure!" The side door to the cargo hold opened slowly, and Gary came back to pull the large packing crate forward.

"That's bigger than I thought it would be," Alan commented as he and Kenny worked on manhandling the box onto the float.

"There's one more just like it," Gary warned.

The unloading crew turned to see Scott driving down from the house in a golf cart. He brought the vehicle to a halt and climbed out, approaching Juan as the other sorted through the mail bags to find the one destined for Tracy Island.

"Hey, Juan, Gary," he said, handing over two thick packets of envelopes and three parcels. "Dad sent me down for the mail once he heard that there was something requiring my thumbprint."

"No problem, Scott," Juan said. He put away the outgoing mail, then fingered through his special priority letters and parcels, extracting a plastic case addressed to Scott. The flap was sealed and fastened with a security clasp requiring a thumbprint to unlock it. "Here it is. Just press your thumb against the scanner, then give the lock back to me. That way the sender will know you've received it."

"Okay."

Scott did as Juan told him and handed the small locking mechanism back to the mailman, who tucked it into a slot on his datapad. The letter carrier touched a couple of places on the screen with his stylus, and the pad beeped at him. "All set. Here's the rest of the mail."

"Thanks," Scott said absently, taking the letters and putting them in a wicker hamper while gazing at the envelope and the return address on it. _Arianiss, Windsor, and Koberle, Solicitors at Probate; wonder what they want? The address is Unity City. Could it have something to do with Peter? _He didn't get much more time to wonder because the two mail plane pilots had finished offloading the crates onto Alan's antigravity float, and were preparing to depart. Glancing up, he gave them a perfunctory wave as the helijet lifted off with a scattering of dirt and moved slowly out to sea, gaining speed and altitude as it left the island behind.

"Hey, Scott!" Alan called from the small aircraft door that was set into the cliff face. "We could use a hand over here!"

"Coming," he said distractedly. Laying the basket on the passenger seat of the cart, he placed the special delivery envelope on top of the pile inside, and went to help his brother.

xxxx

"We have the canopy down in the repair bay," Alan reported to his father. "It will take the better part of a day to get it on and properly sealed, but before that, we need to take care of our other problem."

"And what is that?"

Alan yielded the floor to Kenny, who said, "Well, we cleaned all the blood off of the rear seat, and it's ready to be re-upholstered. The problem is that we really need to send it back to Rolls Royce to have it done. They would be able to match the dye lot from the front seat, and I don't think I could match their thread pattern." He smiled sheepishly. "Not that upholstery is something I'm really skilled at anyway. In any case, Rolls Royce won't do a thing without the direct order of the current owner or her legal representative. It's bad enough that we've been working on it, not being authorized mechanics and all. If she ever wanted to resell it..." He caught Jeff's amused glance, and smiled again. "Not that I think she would or anything; it's just that sometimes I think of things in terms of resale value."

"So, you need Lady Penelope's permission to continue?" Jeff asked.

"Yeah, basically."

"Do you think she's still at Bongo-Bongo, Father?" Alan asked.

Jeff shook his head. "I don't know, Alan. I haven't heard from her since she left here. You should try there first, though. I'll give you the number."

"Thanks, Father," Alan said gratefully. "I'll call her right away." He glanced over at his mechanic. "I think Kenny has something else he wants to discuss with you."

"All right, Alan. You call her. We can arrange any transport needed," Jeff said. Alan nodded, got up and left the room.

Jeff waited until Alan was gone before asking, "You had something you needed to talk to me about, Kenny?"

The mechanic nodded. "I do." He stood up and pulled a folded piece of paper from his jumpsuit pocket. "Here," he said, handing it across the desk to Jeff.

It was a long white envelope, with two or three dark fingerprints on it. It was addressed: "To the Commander of International Rescue". It was unsealed, and Jeff opened it to pull out the paper inside. He scanned it, then read it more thoroughly as Kenny nervously stood before him.

"Are you sure about this, Kenny?" Jeff asked, his voice soft.

"Yes, sir. I am. I've given this a lot of thought, and I've talked it over with Alan, so he knows what my decision is." Kenny took a deep breath. "I am resigning from International Rescue."


	8. That could have gone better

_Author's Note:_ Jeff and Lou converse, but not with each other. Scott makes a surprising discovery. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

Now for those who reviewed the current chapters _of Overtures_:

**Emerald Queen:** Thanks for the email! Nothing on Gordon or Rachel this chapter, but next, I promise. And Penelope will be making a decision about Virgil soon.

**Claudette:** Kenny waffled a lot on staying or going and I didn't know what his decision would be until chapter 7. He explains all in this chapter. As for RR, Lady P isn't driving a Ford! ;) More on Grandma and her reaction to Lou in this chapter. She wants to be civil, but as you'll see, it's very hard for both of them. And Brains stopped to think very carefully about what he was going to say to Jeff about Deirdre and he spoke slowly. That's why he lost his stutter there.

**Math Girl:** Yes, Jeff is surrounded by trouble and more is coming. Yes, he realized it, but as you say, it's still painful when confronted by the reality. Yes, he's got Lou, but even she has troubles of her own. More on Rachel and Gordon in the next chapter.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

"Why do you ask about... him?" Kyrano responded, his face paling. 

"To understand him. To... know the enemy," Lou explained gently. "The more I know about him, the more I can help Jeff and International Rescue." She glanced down and back up again, a serious expression on her face. "Kyrano, I believe that to keep International Rescue and the family secure, at some point we're going to have to take him down," she said fervently. "Right now, he's got a lot of power that's not rightfully his to hold or use, but that he can wield against us. I need to know what he wants, what motivates him, and how far he is willing to go to get what he wants. And I need to know about these mind control powers Jeff says he has. We can't protect ourselves against them if we don't understand them."

"I... I cannot speak of him. Not now, and not to you," Kyrano said, his voice showing plainly his distress. "I have barely spoken to Mr. Tracy on the subject of my half brother, and he is closer to me than anyone save Tin-Tin. Still, he trusts me in this matter." He looked at her reprovingly. "I hope you will as well."

Lou sighed and glanced away. "I'm sorry, Kyrano. I didn't realize this would be so difficult for you." Turning back, she met his gaze. "As for trust, Jeff told me he trusts you with his life and the lives of his sons. That's enough to satisfy me."

"Good. Then let us drop this subject," the retainer said, standing abruptly. "I will make a trip to Wellington within the next two days for the supplies you have requested. Now, I must return to my duties. Have a good day, Mrs. Myles."

"You too, Kyrano," Lou said as he left the kitchen without looking back. She shook her head in frustration and rubbed her face with one hand, muttering. "That could have gone a lot better."

xxxx

Jeff came out from behind the desk, and motioned for Kenny to take a seat on Thunderbird Three's couch. He held the letter in his hand and read it through one more time as he joined the mechanic. "You say in your letter, Kenny, that you're doing this for your family's sake. What exactly does that mean?"

"Well, Mr. Tracy," Kenny nervously began. "Having been here, and having seen the Thunderbirds in action, I see how dangerous it all can be, and how seriously you take it. I mean, I almost didn't know Alan when I was watching him on that rescue. He seemed like a different person, much more focused and intense. Then there's my work. Sometimes I'm away for weeks at a time, preparing a car for a race and traveling with it as part of the pit crew. I can't always get in touch with you if I need to."

He held up his palms and sighed. "And frankly, I'm scared. That other agent, the one who died; he was like me, just a working stiff, with a wife and kids and all. I'd hate to leave my family behind like that; I just love them too much. Plus, there's the danger that they might be in because of my involvement. Look at Ms. Myles; she wasn't even an IR agent and not only did she get kidnapped and hurt because of the organization, but her _sister_ did, too. Beth doesn't know anything about IR, and I can't bring myself to tell her. I don't want to take that risk."

Looking Jeff in the eye he said, "Alan has a mechanic for racing whenever he needs one, and so do you for jobs like this Rolls, as long as I can fit it into my work schedule. I'll be glad to help out that way. But not as an agent. I can't risk possibly being identified with International Rescue. There's just too much at stake."

Jeff sat quietly for a moment, looking at Kenny with understanding as he marshalled his thoughts. Then he said, "Before I accept this resignation, I want you to know that I understand your concerns, truly I do. I've had a lot of hard thinking to do about the agents' network and the role it plays in our organization. That's why I'll be talking with our operatives and determining what tasks each agent is qualified to do and assigning various levels of responsibility according to those qualifications. If I were to limit your involvement to being the 'mechanic on call' as it were, would you consider remaining with us?" He smiled. "You've already proven to be a valuable member of the network and I'd really hate to lose you."

Kenny thought for a moment, then solemnly shook his head. "No. I can't. I'm sorry. I appreciate your compliments and all, but my work schedule wouldn't always allow me to drop what I was doing and fulfill my role as 'mechanic on call'. In fact, you were lucky to get me for this job. I'm supposed to be back in San Diego next week to start work on the car José de Casas will be running in the Paris to Dakar race."

Jeff sighed heavily, and smiled ruefully. "Well, I had to try at least once to change your mind." He folded up the letter and said with regret, "Agent 204, I accept your resignation. As stated in my letter, your stipend will continue for the next three months and if you like, we will remove the communications equipment from your home."

"I think it would be wise, Mr. Tracy. We'll probably need to move to a bigger place soon anyway," Kenny said, relief mixed with sadness in his tone.

"Right. I'll schedule it with our tech team." Jeff stood, and offered his hand. Kenny followed and took Jeff's hand to shake it.

"I'd better get back downstairs and see what help I can be with that canopy," the mechanic said.

"Right. See you at lunch."

Kenny left, and Jeff sat down heavily behind his desk. He opened his wall safe, and added the letter to a file folder. _That's eight so far. I really wish I could have convinced him to stay on, but I do understand his reasons. Peter Riordan's death was like a stone in a pond, and is still sending ripples out through IR. I wonder how many more agents we'll lose before I hear from everyone?_

xxxx

While Jeff was talking with Kenny, Scott took the unexpected package to his room. Sitting before his computer, he opened the letter he found in the packet and unfolded it to read.

_Dear Mr. Tracy,_

_Our firm was selected to administer the estate of Mr. Peter Aidan Riordan, late of Unity City. As per his wishes, we have sent this computer CD copy of his last will and testament to you, his executor,..._

**_Executor?_** Scott thought in shock. **_Since when?_**

_... so that you may peruse the document and become familiar with it. We will, of course, await your response before submitting the will to Probate Court prior to final distribution of Mr. Riordan's assets._

_You will find, as part of the document, a video statement from Mr. Riordan to you personally. There are other such statements to be distributed to various of his heirs and assigns, and we have those in our files, to be released when the will goes to Probate. We ask that you view the enclosed video before opening the file containing the will._

_Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter. We look forward to hearing from you soon._

_Sincerely,  
Ms. Dena Arianiss, Esq._

Scott sat back, shaking his head at this sudden responsibility. _Why did Peter pick me to be his executor? And why didn't he say anything about it, or ask me if I'd do it? _He picked up the tiny disk, gazing at the label on it, then opened the drive on his computer and slipped it in. With his stylus, he chose a vid player to show the file, and let it play.

Peter's smiling, freckled face appeared before Scott, eliciting a small gasp from him. "Hey, there Scotty-me-lad!" the recorded Peter said brightly. "Hopefully, by the time ye see this, I'm an old man an' have died in my bed surrounded by my children and lots of grandchildren." The smile faded. "Actually, if ye see this particular version, I'll have died young. I intend to redo this recording at intervals as I age an' if I find need to add codicils to my will. I hope ye remember when I asked ye to be my executor. It was just before the weddin', at the stag party, and I can't blame ye if in all the craic that was going on ye'd forgotten."

_Damn! I **had** forgotten, Pete, _Scott moaned to himself. _I didn't take you seriously that day, you know. I thought we had years and years ahead of us to make such decisions._

Peter cleared his throat. "In any case, my will is supposed to be sent to ye with this vid. Ye'll be surprised at what I did with that little stipend I earned workin' for yer family. I may not have been able to make money hand over fist like yer Da, but I've seen to it that my children will be able to go to college, and that Melissa'll be looked after to a certain extent, at least financially. The attorneys have all my paperwork: the trust funds, the life insurance, the bonds; it's all with them. And my will is very specific about who gets what, too. There should be no quarrel with my family at all; e'en though they disowned me, I've remembered them. I know I can count on ye to be firm an' keep them from stirring up any muck."

Now Peter turned very serious, and his voice was soft, so soft that Scott had to turn the volume up a bit. "Now, I need to ask somethin' personal of ye, Scott. I wouldn't ask this of any other man in the world. But I trust ye, more than I trust my own brother." He swallowed heavily. "Look after them for me. Please. Show P.J. an' Quinn what a real man is like. Look after Kaylie like she was yer own daughter; be like a father to them all. And my Melissa? My beautiful, darling Melissa. Please, Scott, make sure no one takes advantage of her. Make sure that if she remarries, it's because the sod loves her like I do. Don't let her settle for less than the best, in anything."

He glanced down for a moment then looked up to stare into the camera, right into Scott's eyes, it seemed. "I know I can trust ye to do this because I know, in yer own way, ye care for Melissa, too. Ye always have, for my sake. And, if ye an' she were to..." He paused for a moment, composing himself, then continued.. "And ye should know, Scotty, that she doesn't know about the little... erm... arrangement I have with yer family. I didn't think it wise to tell her. I know this may make yer job harder, an' I'm sorry for that. I figure ye can think on yer feet, and ye'll come up with something to answer her questions about where the money she'll inherit came from."

His eyes dropped again briefly, and he cleared his throat once more, then smiled wryly. "I know ye'll do what's best for her. It's the convincing _her_ that's the hard part."

Peter chuckled at his own joke and smile changed, to a wide, genuine one that matched the twinkle in his eyes. "Ye've been a good friend, Scotty-me-lad, and I appreciate ye taking care of this little matter for me. Hopefully I didn't die doing somethin' stupid in my taxi or of some wastin' disease. If I could choose a way to die, it would be to die while makin' a difference. Unfortunately, that's not my choice now, is it?" He grinned. "In any case, no matter how I met my Maker, ye be sure to take those brothers of yers to a good Irish pub and lift a pint o' the black stuff in my honor. And keep on making a difference, Scotty. I'm proud to have known a man like ye. Farewell."

The vid stopped. Scott let out one long, soft sigh. Seeing his old friend like this almost made him forget that Peter lay under two meters of good Irish loam in a Derry cemetery. Almost made him forget his guilt about his part in putting his friend there. Almost, but not quite.

"I'll do what I can for Mel and the kids, Pete. I promise," he murmured. "It's the least I can do to make up for my lack of initiative."

Just then his wrist telecomm beeped. He turned it toward his face and activated it.

"Scott?" Jeff's face, as seen on that tiny screen, looked tired. "I'm available now."

"Okay. I'm on my way." Scott pushed the eject button on the disk drive and drew the shiny little circle out. Slipping it back into its envelope, he took it with him as he headed to the lounge for the long postponed talk with his father.

xxxx

Eleanor let herself into the Round House. She pursed her lips as she ran a critical eye over the furnishings in the common room. _I'll have to talk to Jeff about some renovations in here. The furniture is far too dark for such a bright area. _Shaking her head, she stepped over to the room that she knew had been assigned to Lou, and was about to press on the buzzer when a strange sing-song noise made her pause and turn toward the nearby corridor.

_Hmm. She said she had planned to wash her clothes. So she must be in the laundry room. But land's sakes, what is that **noise**?_

Eleanor walked briskly down the hall and through the open door of the laundry area. She found Lou there, her back to the doorway, her hips swaying back and forth as she folded a towel, and realized that the noise she'd heard was Lou trying to sing.

"My, my, at Waterloo, Napoleon did surrender. Oh yeah, and I have met my destiny..."

Thankfully, Eleanor didn't have to hear the rest of the song because, when she entered, a large black cat who sat on the clothes dryer looked up ather approach. He stood, stretched, and jumped down to investigate the newcomer. Lou noticed this motion out of the corner of her eye and the song trailed off as she turned her head to see what Midnight found so interesting. Her eyes widened to see Eleanor standing there, gazing down at Midnight, who was giving her sensible shoes a good sniffing.

"Mrs. Tracy!" Lou said in surprise as she turned around. "You nearly gave me a good scare there." She removed her earphones then, reaching to her belt, she fingered her mini player, turning it off.

Eleanor glanced up at Lou, and asked, "Which one is this?"

"That's Midnight, my only male," Lou said. She took a few steps towards the cat and scooped him up. "Now, boy, you need to behave yourself," she scolded.

The older woman reached out to scratch the cat between his ears and stroke his fur once or twice. "He's a sleek one, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is," Lou replied, as the cat moved his head so that his mouth rested on the short sleeve of her v-neck t-shirt. "Oh no, you don't!" she warned, moving him away and upward. "No smurgling!"

Eleanor frowned a bit, puzzled. "Smurgling? What's that?"

"It's when an adult cat... like this brat..." Lou moved the cat's mouth away from her neck, "...tries to 'nurse' on an object or person. This one will lick my shirt or a blanket or whatever he can get his mouth on while 'kneading' with his front paws." She shook her head. "The other cats will knead, too, but he feels the urge to do more. Might have something to do with being weaned too soon; I'm not sure." She moved Midnight again. "One day last year I was sleeping on the couch in my living room and he climbed up on my chest and started smurgling on my neck while I slept." Chucking, she added. "Gave me a hickey."

Eleanor chuckled, too, and reached out to stroke Midnight again. "We always only had barn cats. They were good at mousing, but they stayed outside."

"So Jeff told me. Midnight here is a good mouser, and so is his mother, Snowball," Lou replied as she moved toward the door. "Let me return him to the room with the girls. I'll be back in just a minute."

Lou returned to find Eleanor automatically folding the towels that had come from the dryer. She bit her tongue about the way they were folded, and went to join Jeff's mother. Picking up a pair of panties to fold, she asked, "So, what can I help you with, Mrs. Tracy?"

"Nothing in particular, Lucinda," Eleanor said as she patted the neatly folded pile of towels. "I just wanted to see how things were going here and have a little chat with you. There's no reason why we can't be civil and polite with each other."

"That's very true, Mrs. Tracy," Lou said, smiling even though she didn't know where Eleanor was going in the conversation. "The accommodations here are very nice," she added. "My cats and I are all very comfortable."

"I'm glad you are," the older woman said, with a small smile. "And I hope you continue to be comfortable for the rest of your visit."

Lou couldn't be sure if there was an added stress on the word "visit", but she decided to act as if there hadn't been. "We will be. It was very thoughtful of Jeff to let me bring my kitties." She picked up some shorts and began to fold them.

"Yes, it was," Eleanor replied, biting her tongue to keep from saying what she really felt about her son's incomprehensible action. She watched Lou fold some more clothes, night wear this time. _My, but she likes skimpy tops on her pajamas! And such clingy fabrics, too!_

"Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?" Lou asked to fill the lull in the conversation.

"Why, yes, there is," Eleanor began. "What has Jeff told you about your duties as a new agent? He wasn't very specific with us this morning."

Lou shook her head. "No, he wasn't. And he hasn't been very specific with me either, at least, not yet. He was talking a little about my possibly being a security consultant, using my experience in surveillance and research to help hide International Rescue more thoroughly. But that's all he's said about the agent position so far." She put the last pair of pajama pants on the pile, and began matching the few pairs of socks that she had used. "His comment this morning took me by surprise."

"Really?"

The tone of disbelief made the younger woman glance over at the older, a wary look on her face. "Yes, really," Lou replied, trying to seem as non-confrontational and polite as possible. "Sounds like you don't believe me. Why not?"

"I'm never sure when to believe you." Eleanor folded her arms and sighed. "I might as well come out and be blunt about this. Are you and Jeff going to pick up your... ah... _relationship_ where you left off?"

Lou closed her eyes and counted to ten. Adding the last pair of socks to the pile of folded clothes, she slid her rear onto the corner of the table top, with her right foot barely touching the floor for balance, and the other dangling. She put both hands on her left thigh, one covering the other, and turned her head to meet Eleanor's gaze. "What do you mean by 'relationship', Mrs. Tracy? If you're talking about our friendship, then yes. We've rekindled that, and have found that we're closer than we were before."

It was her turn to fold her arms across her chest. "But if you're speaking of our _alleged _affair, then the answer is 'No', simply because there never was any relationship like that in the first place."

The two women stared at each other for a long moment, then Eleanor said quietly, "So you said. But I never trusted you."

"And so _Lucy _said. And so _Jeff_ said, and _still_ says," the younger woman forcefully reminded her. "And I was never, ever the one you or Lucy had to trust! Jeff was, always." Lou lifted her hands, palms up. "I can't believe that after all this time--Gordon's what, twenty-four now? I can't believe that you still think there was an affair! For God's sake, Mrs. Tracy, _why_? Lucy trusted Jeff when he said we didn't have an affair. _Why don't you trust your son_?"

Lou's angry outburst took Eleanor aback. "I know what I saw! I know the signs! Late nights at work, not being able to talk about what was going on, praising you while bringing home bouquets of flowers. I saw it all!" she shouted. Then she lowered her voice and said bitterly, "And wives can be deceived. No one knows that better than I do." Suddenly, she blinked and gasped at the look of shocked comprehension on the other woman's face. She put her hands to her mouth, uttering a strangled, "Oh, God. I didn't mean...!" through her fingers.

The younger woman stood, breathed deeply in and out twice to calm herself, then stepped close to the old woman, not crowding her, not touching her. "Mrs. Tracy?" Lou asked in a soft voice. "Did your husband..." she thought hard to come up with Jeff's father's name, "...did Grant have an affair?"

"That's none of your business!" Eleanor cried, whirling away from her. "It's not anybody's business but my own!"

Lou moistened her lips and took one small step closer. "Mrs. Tracy, if that's the reason you think Jeff and I had an affair, then it _is_ my business." She resisted the urge to put her hands on Eleanor's shoulders and turn her around. Instead, she waited, hands at her sides. The laundry machine's drum, full of clothes, rolled around, filling the silence between the two women with a gentle rumbling noise.

At last, the older woman shook her head. "No. It's not. It's none of your business or concern. What happened was between me and my late husband and no one else." She turned around, spots of dark pink embarrassment on her weathered cheeks. Lifting her chin, she added haughtily, "That included Jeff, and still does. I will deny anything you may say to him on the subject. I will not risk sullying Jeff's good memories of Grant or the high regard in which he held his father. Nor the boys' memories of their grandfather, either." She pointed a gnarled finger at the younger woman. "So I suggest you keep it to yourself, Lucinda, and do what you can to expedite your return to the mainland." And with that, Eleanor spun on her heel and marched out.

"Now, wait just a minute, Mrs. Tracy!" Lou called angrily, following her adversary into the hall. Eleanor kept her face forward, moving quickly toward the exit. But Lou was younger, and faster, and headed the older woman off before she could reach the door to the outside.

"Out of my way!" Eleanor cried, trying to maneuver her way around the human roadblock.

"No. Not until you hear me out," Lou responded, her voice very serious. Eleanor stopped trying to get to the door, and stood there, her posture belligerent.

"You and I have more in common than you think, Mrs. Tracy. My husband had an affair, too, but unlike your Grant, Greg walked out on me. He put all the onus of the divorce on me, saying I drove him to have the affair, simply because I couldn't give him children." Lou paused, swallowing hard to compose herself.

"Couldn't or wouldn't?" Grandma spat.

"Couldn't. I had surgery for fibroids..."

This seemed to anger Eleanor even more. "I've heard enough. You and I may have something in common, but you will never understand. And it doesn't excuse you for what you did when poor Lucy was pregnant with Gordon. Now, please stand aside. I have work to do."

Lou gaped at her, unbelieving, then moved aside and motioned with her arms that Eleanor could proceed. The older woman marched out the door, and Lou watched her go. Then she turned back to the leather sofa and collapsed onto it, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes.

"Damn!" she said, shaking her head. "That could have gone a _hell_ of a lot better."

xxxx

"Hey, Dad," Scott said as he entered the lounge.

"Hello, Scott," Jeff replied, tapping a few keys on his computer. "Let me just finish this tech team request and I'll be right with you."

Scott smiled slightly. "Installing the communications equipment in Lou's place?"

"No," Jeff said, sounding distracted. "Removing it from Kenny's."

"What? Why?" Scott's voice conveyed his shock. "Is he resigning?"

Jeff tapped a last key with finality. The request he had just made would activate their technical team, three specially chosen agents who were responsible for installing or removing the proprietary communications equipment that IR provided for their agents to use. They were very creative about how they installed things, and could usually finish a job within 48 hours after receiving an order. _This is an example how a more specialized agents' network could work, _Jeff thought. _Though they work together, they live in different parts of the world and have no contact outside of their assignments. And only one of them knows who is behind IR. _He sighed quietly. _I hope we don't lose any of this team. It would take some time to replace any of them._

"Done," he said. Motioning to the sofa, he got up from behind his desk. "Sit down, son."

Scott did as his father bid, parking himself in one corner of Thunderbird Three's sofa, leaning on the arm rest, and putting one ankle on the opposite knee. Jeff sat in the other corner, and mirrored his son's position.

"In answer to your question, yes, Kenny is resigning. He's afraid for his family," Jeff said sadly. "I'm very disappointed that we're losing him, but I can understand his dilemma, and his feelings."

"It's a shame," Scott agreed, shaking his head. "Does Alan know?"

"Kenny says he talked it over with Alan, so I assume he does." Jeff straightened up and asked, "So, what do you want to talk about?"

Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat and grabbed his elevated ankle with one hand. "Well, first of all, I want to apologize for going off on you after Peter's death. I've had time to think about what I said and I realize I was out of line, especially since I learned how Peter viewed what happened."

"So, who told you what he said?" Jeff asked solemnly.

"Parker did. I guess I never realized what working for IR meant to the agents," Scott explained. "And we _do_ need them. I saw that very clearly in the... incident with Aunt Lou."

"For what it's worth, Scott, you made some very good points about the agents, ones that I'm trying to address as we revamp the network." Jeff smiled wryly. "Sometimes I need somebody to kick me in the ass and tell me what I'm doing wrong." Pointing a finger at Scott, he smiled wider and said, "Just don't make a habit of it."

His son chuckled. "I'll try not to." Sobering, he added, "I still think I should have been the one to create the diversion. I could have been in and out so fast those bastards wouldn't have known what hit them."

"I'll keep that in mind should we ever encounter that type of situation again," Jeff said. "Though I hope to hell we never do."

"Amen to that," the younger man replied. "I also want to apologize for what I said about Penelope. That was way out of line."

The father nodded. "You're right about that, but I'm not the one you should be apologizing to. Penelope had no idea what she was walking into. It's not her fault that she was recognized. And she's been agonizing over it ever since." He made a rueful face. "My response to her didn't help things, either."

"Nor did Virgil's declaration of love," Scott added.

"Hmm, yes," Jeff mused aloud. "Another mistake of mine, asking Virgil to take her home so he would have a chance to talk to her about it." He shook his head slowly. "I seem to be batting .1000 when it comes to personal blunders."

"I wouldn't say that, Dad." Scott jiggled his elevated foot. "You seem to have hit it off well with Aunt Lou."

That brought a deep chuckle from Jeff. "I guess so, though her comment about being 'a regular agent' was a bit off-putting. I need to finalize things between us in regards to the agent position."

"And only that?" Scott asked, raising an eyebrow.

"For the moment, yes," Jeff parried mildly. "Anything else will come along in its own time."

The two men fell silent, then the elder asked, "Scott, why did you put up such a fight about helping Lou out? I mean, I'd have thought you'd be more willing to jump her aid." He smiled slyly. "After all, you proposed to her once..."

Scott shook his head, his face flushing a bit pink at the reminder of his childhood folly. "I guess it's because you've been so adamant that we not get involved in affairs outside the definition of 'rescue'. Like the affair with the gas drilling platform."

"Does that still sting, Scott?" Jeff asked, concerned. "I would have thought you'd have come to terms with my reprimand in that case."

"Well, yes, I have, but sometimes it seems you have a double standard when it comes to the word 'rescue'," the younger man explained. "And nothing has stopped you from sending Penelope out to interfere in problems that were best left to the police, like Professor Borrender's kidnapping. I felt that Aunt Lou's problem would have been better addressed by local law enforcement, that's all."

"Well, if it had, Lou's sister would almost certainly be dead, and Lou herself taken away to meet up with our enemy, Belah Gaat," Jeff reminded him.

"Possibly. Instead, Lou's sister is alive, but Lou herself is most likely under suspicion of murder and being hunted by the police," Scott countered. "I hope to God that we didn't leave behind evidence that could link IR to the murder, or to us."

"Me, too," the older man said fervently. When there was a lengthy pause, Jeff asked, "Have you heard from Melissa lately?"

Scott colored again. "Uh, yeah. She's been having trouble with her parents, especially her father, trying to run her life. She wants to go back to Unity City and he's trying to keep her in Ireland." He reached into his shirt pocket to show his father the disk. "In fact, I just got a letter from a law firm about Pete's will. Seems I'm executor of his estate."

"Really?" Jeff commented, frowning. "Sounds to me like you're surprised about this."

"I was. He asked me during the stag party, but I thought he was joking. Turns out he wasn't."

"Looks like you've got a trip to Unity City in your future," his father stated. "It's a pretty popular place with you boys right now."

Just as Scott was about to respond to Jeff's comment, there was a buzz from Jeff's telecomm. He put up a finger to temporarily forestall any discussion from Scott, and answered the call. Alan's grimy face appeared in the tiny screen.

"Yes, Alan?"

"Dad, I've finally gotten hold of Lady Penelope and she would like to speak with you. I'm transferring the call to your vidphone."

"All right, Alan, and thank you. Jeff out." He glanced over at Scott. "Can we pick this up later, son?"

"Yeah, but I think I've said what I need to," the younger man said, getting to his feet.

"Okay, Scott," Jeff replied, standing and stretching. "And about those apologies? I accept them. Consider the matters closed."

Scott smiled. "Thanks, Dad. Talk to you later."

"Right." Jeff returned to his desk. The vidphone was beeping for his attention and he took a deep breath before he answered it.

"Hello, Penny. It's good to hear from you..."

xxxx

The satellite phone on Eddie Kerr's desk rang. He left his private washroom, wiping his hands on a soft towel as he did so. There weren't many people who had the number for this particular phone; most of them were his "sources", people who regularly fed him tips for his particularly hard-hitting, televid news exposé and opinion show, "Sight Unseen".

Picking up the device, he plugged in his headset, then pressed the "answer" button and growled, "Kerr here."

There was no picture; a precaution most of Kerr's sources liked to take. A voice he had only heard a couple of times before responded. "Good afternoon, Mr. Kerr. I hope you are well."

"I don't have time for polite pleasantries, lady. Tell me what you've got," he said bluntly, checking his watch.

"All right. There was a man murdered, shot in the head, near Portland, Maine a week or more ago. His name was James Clayton Franks. Four bullets were recovered from the scene. One of them was from Franks's gun. Two were from unidentified pistols. But the fourth one was very interesting."

"Yeah? Define 'interesting'," Kerr snapped even as he took notes in his PDA.

"It was identified as being from the same gun that was used in a firefight in the Anderbad Tunnel three years ago. A fight in which agents of International Rescue were involved."

"International Rescue? That _is_ interesting." Kerr's eyes gleamed as he listened. "So, has this information been released?"

"No, it has not, even though Interpol has verified it to the Portland police."

"How sure is it that this gun belonged to an IR agent?" Kerr asked.

"A near certainty. None of the other people in the firefight walked away from it, and those who survived are in jail on kidnapping or conspiracy charges. All of the International Rescue personnel were seen leaving the tunnel, intact. The bullet was removed from one of the fatalities and did not fit any of the guns retrieved from the scene."

"Any fingerprints on it?" Kerr was already thinking of people who could help him confirm or deny this source's statement.

"None, in either case. But at the site of the Franks murder, there was evidence that footprints and fingerprints had been removed."

"Is there anyone who witnessed this murder?" the reporter asked.

"There were two women involved, both of them victims of an alleged kidnapping attempt by Franks. One of them was hospitalized, and is now at home. The other is missing."

"Names?"

The voice chuckled. "I think I have given you enough, Mr. Kerr. The rest you can find out for yourself. Have fun, Mr. Kerr."

The line went dead, and Kerr looked at the phone in surprise. "That's strange. They didn't wait to make payment arrangements." He scrolled down the notes he had taken, and tweaked them as he went, making sure they were clear to him. Then he saved the file for future retrieval. "Who can I hand this to?" he wondered aloud, then he shook his head. "No. I'm handling this one myself. I missed out on uncovering the secret of the century three years ago. I won't miss out this time."

He sat down behind his desk, and activated his computer. "Hmm. International Rescue gets involved in a kidnapping, then covers up the indications that they'd been on the scene. Very suspicious. I wonder what other illegal activities they might be hiding." He smiled as he began searching the web. "I'll start with Mr. Franks and see where he might lead me."

_Author's note:_ The snippet of lyric is from "Waterloo" by ABBA.


	9. What's for lunch?

_Author's Note:_ A long morning until lunchtime. Penny puts in a call, Grandma takes out her frustrations. A bit of Gordon and Rachel, and Alvarez is scheming again. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading. All poor Spanish translation is the fault of Babelfish.

Now for those who reviewed the current chapters _of Overtures_:

**Emerald Queen:** How many? Will Grandma trust Lou? Well, those are things to come. But there's not a whole lot that Grandma can do to get rid of Lou, as she'll soon find out. And soon on Penny's decision!

**Claudette:** That bad man will get his comeuppance, but he's too good a villain to dispose of yet. Re: the title "Esq." It is used by female lawyers here in the States. Grandma has as long a memory as the IRA, and she takes a good bit of convincing, I think, before she lets go of an idea, especially one that stems from her own pain. About the surgery and Grandma's anger, that too will be explained. Thanks for the good words on Jeff and Scott's discussion. This was more a talking "with" instead of at talking "to" and that's why Jeff was more approachable. And yeah, there's a mole at Interpol who answers to Alvarez.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

"Hello, Jeff," the aristocrat returned. "It is good to see you, as well. It feels as if it has been ages since we last spoke." 

Jeff couldn't be sure but he thought the smile on Penelope's face looked a trifle strained. "Yes, it does, Penny," he remarked. "What can I help you with?"

"I wonder if it would be an imposition to come and visit you briefly? I wish to give you my answer to the question I have been considering and I would prefer to do it face-to-face. Then perhaps I could return to England from there. I would leave FAB-1 with you until the repairs were completed; I do have other vehicles to use."

Jeff mulled this over for a moment, then replied, "Of course, Penny. Would it be best for me to send one of the boys to get you and Parker?"

"Yes, please, Jeff. Only... please, don't send Virgil." Now the smile on her face was definitely strained. "I wish to speak with him, but not in-flight."

"Of course, Penny. I understand," he replied, nodding. "Would you prefer I sent Tin-Tin?"

"Oh, yes! Please do," Penny replied, the strain disappearing and the smile becoming genuine. "I should _so_ appreciate her company."

"Then it's settled," Jeff replied, smiling back. "Tin-Tin will pick you and Parker up tomorrow afternoon." He went to enter the flight into the schedule on his computer and saw something that hadn't been there an hour ago. "Oh, wait... no, this will work out well. Kyrano has scheduled a supply run to Wellington for tomorrow morning, and asked for Tin-Tin as co-pilot. He and Tin-Tin can come get you after they've finished their business in Wellington. I'll let him know about the change in plans."

"Splendid. Then I shall see you and the family for dinner tomorrow evening," Penelope confirmed.

"Yes, Penny. It's good to see you smiling again. I'm glad you've come to a decision, no matter what it is," he said sincerely.

"So am I, Jeff. Au revoir."

"Goodbye for now, Penny."

The communication cut off, and Jeff sat back with a sigh of relief. "Best news I've had all day," he murmured.

xxxx

Rachel couldn't help checking her email box after dinner. She knew that she wasn't giving Professor Palaia much time to get back to her, but she was anxious to know more about the young man she had met at the hospital.

To her surprise and delight, the professor had answered.

_Dear Ms. Clarendon,_

_Thank you for your email and your interest in kelp farming. The picture was taken during a three-year study on the subject in the Fijian islands several years ago. It was sponsored by the University of Hawaii in conjunction with the University of New Zealand, the Submarine Service, and the World Aquanaut Security Patrol. Not only were different methods of kelp farming studied, but the project participants lived under the sea in an experimental colony for an entire year._

_Now, for the young man. He was one of the Submarine Service cadets who were part of the project, but I'm not sure if the man you met is the same as the one in my photo. The name you gave me is not his, though it is very close. The young man in my photo is Gordon Tracy. He was in the program during its second year of operation, then transferred from the Submarine Service to WASP, where he served with distinction. _

_If you are really interested in Mr. Tracy's experiences, I will be happy to forward your request to him, along with your address so he can get in touch with you on the matter. _

_Again, thank you for your interest. If you have Dr. Knightly for a teacher, please give him my greetings and regards._

_Sincerely,  
__Margaret Palaia_

_Gordon **Tracy**? _Rachel frowned at the letter on her computer screen. _Could they be the same man? If so, why did he give me a fake name? _She shook her head. _I think maybe it's time to do a little web search on Gordon Cooper and on Gordon Tracy. I'll start with a general search and see what comes up._

Typing quickly, she entered the name Gordon Cooper into her search engine. _Hmm. Most of the hits indicate that he was a Mercury astronaut... wait! Here's one that includes the name Tracy! _

Clicking on the link, she brought up a newspaper archive file. _The Honolulu Tribune-Herald, from four years ago. _She began to softly read to herself. "WASP hydrofoil crashes, kills three. A World Aquanaut Security Patrol hydrofoil craft overturned this morning in the waters off Oahu, killing three of the five crew members and leaving the remaining two in critical condition. The survivors, Commander Joanne Mayer-Turlow, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Gordon Cooper Tracy, were rescued by Coast Guard medics and airlifted to the naval hospital at Pearl Harbor..."

Scrolling down the column, she found pictures of the five victims, supplied to the newspaper by WASP. "Yep. That's him. Gordon Cooper and Gordon Tracy _are _the same person." She sat back and chewed on a thumbnail. "But that _doesn't _explain why he gave me a fake name. And could he be related to the Mr. Tracy I met at Aunt Lou's place in North Carolina?" Taking up her mouse, she clicked back to the search page. "Let's see what else there is on this Gordon Cooper Tracy."

xxxx

Kyrano found Eleanor in the kitchen, putting her third apple pie into the nuclear oven. The salad for lunch was already prepared, and the fresh bread was sliced and arrayed on plates, covered to keep it from getting stale before the meal was served. The Malaysian shook his head. He knew that such a burst of industry in the kitchen meant that Mrs. Tracy was upset. Very upset.

"Thank you, Mrs. Tracy, for preparing the salad and the bread," he said gratefully. "I appreciate your help with luncheon today."

"Oh, you're welcome, Kyrano," she replied. "I just couldn't help myself; I had to get something useful done."

The retainer moved past her to open the refrigerator and pull out the ingredients for a homemade mayonnaise. There was chicken already cooked and boned for salad, as well as fresh tuna he had steamed the evening before. He would mix up some of each meat into sandwich spreads, and leave some chopped but unadorned for adding to the garden salad. He noticed the bowl of potato cubes that sat cooling in the refrigerator. Eleanor had already cut up the potatoes he had baked during breakfast, and they were ready to be mixed into a salad as well. It would be a light, cold luncheon, but appropriate for the warm day and the busy schedule of the family.

Eleanor slipped her fourth pie into the oven next to the third, then moved the first two from their spots on the counter to racks where they would cool much more quickly. Kyrano watched her out of the corner of his eye; he had seen the occasional faltering on Mrs. Tracy's part and was ready to go to her aid should she need him. This time, however, she moved about the kitchen with ease, her motions brisk and businesslike. She returned to the built-in cutting block at the center island where she had set up her silicone pie mat and the fresh dough that waited for her to roll it out. Taking up her marble rolling pin, she rubbed flour over it, and began to pound some of the dough into a flat, roundish shape. The sharp, heavy blows to the raw crust sounded much too heavy to Kyrano's experienced ear, and he prayed that, once baked, the final result would be as flaky and light as usual.

"Mr. Tracy has been very busy this morning, meeting and speaking with various members of the family," Kyrano began, hoping to draw his employer's mother out on the subject of her ire.

"Yes, I know," Eleanor said sharply as she rolled out the dough. "I need to get up there and have a little chat with him myself." She shook her head. "After lunch--if he's not with..." Her sentence trailed off, but now Kyrano had an idea of what particular bee Mrs. Tracy had in her bonnet.

"I spoke with Mrs. Myles this morning after breakfast. I will be making a trip to Wellington tomorrow for supplies that she has requested."

"Probably for those damned cats of hers," Eleanor muttered under her breath.

"Indeed," Kyrano said calmly.

There was a momentary pause, then the old woman's shoulders slumped as she sighed. She turned to the retainer. "I'm sorry, Kyrano. It's just that I went over there to show her that there were no hard feelings, and we ended up in a... a... ugh." Shaking her head slowly, she added, "I shouldn't take this out on you."

"I am always willing to listen, Mrs. Tracy. And you are not taking this out on me. You are taking it out on the pie crust."

She looked down at the crust and smiled ruefully. "So I am. I'd better go gently from here on out. Don't want a tough crust now, do we?"

"No, Mrs. Tracy. A good pie takes a much lighter touch," he counseled.

The two of them went back to what they were doing. As Kyrano whipped up the eggs for the mayonnaise, his mind went back to his conversation of the morning and he thought about his half-brother. _If there is anyone I must speak to about the demon, it is Tin-Tin. She of all people has a right to know more about my history and her heritage._

xxxx

Gordon came into the house after his swim. He'd had to wait on the exercise until after he had done the requisite weekly pool maintenance. Since he was the one who used the pool the most, it fell to him to set up the robotic vacuum to clean the cement floor, and to service the other machines that automatically tested the water and administered the proper amounts of chlorine and chemicals. He also emptied the surface skimmers, a chore that he did each morning before starting his laps.

He passed by the dining room, where Kyrano was beginning to set the table for lunch. "Hey, Kyrano," he called, giving the retainer a small wave.

"Good morning, Mr. Gordon. Did you enjoy your swim?"

"Yeah, I did, thanks. What's for lunch?"

"Cold salads. I have prepared chicken and tuna salads, as well as a garden salad."

"Any potato salad?" Gordon asked hopefully.

"Yes, Mr. Gordon. Fresh potato salad, just for you," Kyrano said with a smile. Gordon was not the only one who liked the dish, but he was by far the most vocal about liking it and would eat much more than the others.

"Great!" was the enthusiastic response. "I'm looking forward to it!" Gordon made some motions with his hands indicating direction. "Gotta get changed! Be back for lunch soon with bells on!"

Kyrano merely smiled and nodded, and Gordon took his leave.

Once in his room, he stripped off his racing swimsuit and shrugged out of his loose Hawaiian shirt, flinging his damp towel into his hamper. _Hmm. That's pretty full. Better do a load or two of laundry today. _Then he stepped into the shower to wash skin and hair free of the pool's chlorine. Wrapping one towel around his waist, he tousled his hair dry with anotheras he activated his computer to catch up on his email correspondence. Scrolling down the list of notes sent by various friends, he came across one that made him blink. _Maggie Palaia? I haven't heard from her in months. Wonder what she has to say?_

He opened the email, noticing as he did that it had two attachments, both of which had come through Brains's potent email scanner unscathed.

_Hey, Gordon!_

_I know I haven't communicated in months, and I'm sorry, but this semester has been a bear. The teaching assistants all have a bee up their collective butts about doing any actual work for me (since I'm **only** a poor adjunct and without tenure). The new book is coming along bit by bit, and so is the latest coral reef planting. There is a distant chance that I might be offered a tenured position at the university, but taking it would mean leaving the research behind to teach full-time, and I really don't want to do that, not while I can still dive. Though having professor's hours might help my love life, which is suffering from lack of time to actually have one! _

_But enough about me. I got an interesting email the other day that I thought I'd forward to you. It seems your fan following is still alive and well, either that, or you have a Doppleganger with a very similar name roaming around out there. I've enclosed the original email, and my response. I'm sorry if I let some sort of cat out of the bag with my response; I know how your family is about publicity and all._

_I'm planning a visit to the old project site soon. I hear that the kelp is doing fine, but the colony needs some major retrofitting. Maybe you could make some time and tag along. Let me know if you're interested. In any case, I'd love to hear what you've been up to in the wilds of corporate life and if you've been able to dive lately. _

_Aloha!  
__Maggie_

Gordon settled his towel around his shoulders as he clicked on the first of the attachments. He chuckled when he read Rachel's letter, and frowned slightly when he read Maggie's response. "Hmm. Looks like Rachel takes after her aunt when it comes to research," he muttered. "I'd better let Dad know about this."

He saved the two attachments to his disk and sent them to his printer, letting it do its job as he whipped off his covering towel and dried those parts of him that were still damp. Fishing around in his chest of drawers and closet, he pulled out his clean clothes and dressed for lunch.

xxxx

Alvarez gazed at the woman across the table from him. She was pretty, in her mid-thirties, with light brown skin and black hair that she wore straight on either side of an alternating part. Her lips were full and painted red, and her lids showed the application of a subtle but shiny shadow. Her smile showed an expanse of perfect white teeth. _Her parents must have paid a great deal to an orthodontist, _he thought idly as he played with the stem of his wine glass.

"¿Usted tienen gusto de mayor, Natane?" he asked, smiling at her and indicating the bottle of expensive Chablis.

"Sí, por favor," she said with a small nod.

He poured the wine for both of them, and raised his glass to her. They spoke some Spanish, but more English, as she was originally from Texas and Spanish was a second language to her. Alvarez had chosen this lady for two reasons. First of all, she was an undersecretary to the World Government's vice president. She was relatively new to her honors, having worked for the gentleman in question for only five years. Before that, she had been a lesser clerk in the same office but under a different administration. So she had very intimate knowledge of ins and outs of that dignitary's office and especially his computer system.

Her second, and to Alvarez's mind more important, charm was that, before coming to Unity City, Natane had served with distinction with the United States Marine Corps, earning citations for marksmanship.

They were at his home, eating in the ornate dining room and enjoying the exquisite Columbian cuisine that his staff provided. Alvarez didn't dare be seen in public with her; it would ruin his ultimate plan, a plan that he had not confided to Fernando. All that the minister's secretary knew was that the ersatz minister, whose mourning was supposedly over, was "moving on" in his personal life. By romancing the lady privately, Alvarez would have time to use his powers on her and suborn her without her knowledge. And the fact that she would also provide a pleasant physical diversion was not lost on him.

The dessert course was to come, and Alvarez kept her interest in himself diverted by asking her questions about herself, her family, her friends. She had learned early on not to ask about Alvarez's wife and children. Her first foray into that territory was met with a deep sigh, a very sad expression, and a soft, halting speech about how he found speaking of his late family very painful. She had uttered some sympathetic words and dared to reach her hand across the table to touch his in comfort. Part of the minister's mind was pleased with how easy he found it to show these deep emotions, how simple playing his part had become. But he quashed that part of his mind ruthlessly. He could afford no distractions, no allowances that might make him careless. He had to _be_ Carlos Alvarez, nothing less would suffice.

Dessert had come and gone over small talk and strong coffee, and he was ready to turn to the next item on his agenda. He smiled at Natane once again, and she cocked her head at him, asking, "What else do you have planned for this evening, your Excellency?"

"Please, Natane. I told you, you must call me Carlos," he reminded her with a soft chiding.

Natane looked down, her embarrassed and appreciative blush difficult to see against her skin. Then she glanced up again at him to smile sweetly.

"I have had the drawing room prepared so we may dance. I hope this pleases you."

"Oh, yes! That sounds wonderful!"

"Then come with me, chiquita, and we shall dance the night away." He rose from his chair, and pulled hers out for her, offering her his arm. She took it and he guided her to the drawing room, where he would truly begin his conquest of her: mind, body and soul.


	10. This IS the 21st century, you know

_Author's Note:_ Lunchtime and beyond. Alan and Tin-Tin make a discovery, and Virgil's being an idiot child again. This is a case where a couple of the characters surprised me. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

Now for those who reviewed the current chapters _of Overtures_:

**Eternal Density:** I'm glad you're enjoying the series. I'm having fun with Rachel and her research on the mysterious Gordon Cooper Tracy. The Hood has a lot in mind for International Rescue, but he has other designs as well. Thanks for your compliments on his portrayal.

**Math Girl:** No, Lou's not making friends, especially with Grandma. Alan in his stock car? You mean, taking FAB-1 for a ride? I guess we'll just have to see, won't we? Gomez Adams? What a hoot! Someone may end up in trouble over Franks; just who isn't yet apparent. Kyrano is the mainstay of the household, in my estimation. He sees a lot more than he says.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

Lunch was a relatively normal affair, with both Eleanor and Lou trying to remain polite and civil despite their earlier words. Jeff was distracted by the report he had gotten on Reynaldo Macias. 

"Brains," he said as he lowered his datapad. "You'd better carve some travel time out of your schedule. Everything looks good for Dr. Macias to come on board with us."

"Is Brains going to tell this Dr. Macias who she'd really be working for?" Scott asked, frowning.

"Yes, he is," Jeff replied with a nod. "Both Brains and Lou have told me that she would discuss it with her husband anyway before making a decision. They might as well both know the truth up front. Hopefully, that knowledge will help steer her our way."

"I just hope she can keep the secret, that's all," Scott explained before forking up some more potato salad.

"Will you be sending Lou along, Jeff?" Eleanor asked. "She might be able to persuade this friend of hers."

"No, Mother. It's still too dangerous for Lou to return to the States," Jeff replied, unequivocally.

Lou sipped her tea, glancing at him briefly. She put down her glass, then turned to the rest of the diners and smiled softly. "Mrs. Tracy, I doubt I'll be needed when it comes to persuasion. And there shouldn't be any trouble with Dee and Reynaldo keeping the secret, Scott," she said. "Brains probably knows this, too, but Reynaldo owes his life to International Rescue."

"What?" "Really?" "What's this?" The sudden, keen interest of the family took Lou aback a bit. She looked quickly from one member to another as they responded, startled at the loud reaction and their immediate attention to her and what she had to say.

"Did we rescue him at some point?" Virgil asked eagerly. "We don't often hear the stories of the people we help."

"Well, yes," Lou replied, conscious that everyone around the table was listening intently. "He was on the maiden flight of the Fireflash..."

"Th-That's right! I'd nearly, uh, forgotten!" Brains exclaimed, nodding.

"Oh!" Tin-Tin cried excitedly. "So was I! It's such a great plane, even with its early difficulties."

"So, he was aboard Fireflash when we made our debut, huh?" Gordon commented. He took another bite of cucumber, and chewed it before saying, "It's a good thing he wasn't on that flight that went down in the Atlantic." He shook his head sadly. "I wish Air Terranian had called us in on that crash when it happened. We might have saved a few lives there."

The table quieted as they remembered the flight that had gone down with over 600 people aboard, victim of a saboteur.

Then Virgil spoke up again. "You were saying, Aunt Lou? He was on the maiden flight?"

"Yes, Virgil. He was. And you rescued him, along with all the others. As a result, they've always been grateful to IR. To have a chance to give back would make them very happy."

Jeff frowned at this and shook his head. "I don't want them to do this out of gratitude, or feeling that they owe us something. I want them to come aboard because... well, let's just say that I want them to make an informed decision and not feel guilty if they think it's better for them _not_ to be part of our team." He turned to Brain. "You make sure you emphasize that now, Brains. We need Dr. Macias, yes, but not if it's going to put their family on the line."

"I w-will, Mr. Tracy," Brains said, nodding. "I'll, uh, check my schedule after l-lunch and make the arrangements."

"Good," Jeff said, nodding. "Get back to me later this afternoon."

The table talk stalled for a few moments, then Kyrano came in with a fresh pitcher of iced tea. He poured some into Jeff's glass, prompting Jeff to ask, "Kyrano? Tin-Tin? I know you're planning on a trip to Wellington in the morning. Could you extend it and fly from Wellington to Bongo-Bongo to bring Penelope and Parker back here? Penelope has made her decision about IR, and would like to tell me face-to-face."

Father and daughter exchanged glances, then Kyrano said, "I see no difficulty, Mr. Tracy. I have already emailed ahead so that our purchases will be ready when we arrive or soon thereafter." He moved to refill Lou's glass. "However, I will not be available to make lunch or dinner."

"Don't worry about that, Kyrano," Eleanor said, waving a hand. "I can handle it."

There was a moment of silence, and Eleanor looked at the Malaysian, a scowl beginning to appear on her face. Finally, Kyrano said with a smile. "I have no doubt you can, Mrs. Tracy."

Jeff glanced at his retainer, then his mother, suddenly realizing that there was something going on beneath the surface that he perhaps wasn't fully aware of. Before he could say anything, however, Virgil put up a finger.

"Uh, Kyrano? If you like, I can fly Tin-Tin to Wellington and then pick up Pen..."

"No!" Jeff shouted, interrupting his son. Looking at the stunned expressions on the faces around the table, he moderated his tone. "No, Virgil. Kyrano should go. I'm sure there will be other things he will want to pick up, and he's the one who knows just what we need. Besides, Penelope was pleased when I mentioned Tin-Tin." He turned to Eleanor. "Why don't you just handle lunch, Mother? The boys and I will deal with dinner."

"Yeah!" Gordon said gleefully. "Time to fire up the old hibachi and let the grill-meister work his magic, huh, Dad?"

Jeff's eyebrows went up momentarily in surprise, then his face settled into a pleased look. "That's not a bad idea, Gordon. We can marinate some steak and chicken, put together some kabobs, maybe even grill some fish. Bake up some potatoes, grill some veggies, make a salad... I think that would work. Yes, let's plan on that."

Eleanor glowered at him, but he went on, unheeding. "So it's settled. Mother can put lunch together tomorrow and we'll have a barbecue for dinner. Now, is there anything else?" He looked at his watch. "I have a vidconference with the Tokyo people in a few minutes."

Lou put a hand on his arm. "Jeff, is there some place on the island where I can get in some shooting practice? It doesn't have to be fancy or anything."

"Yes, there is." He turned to Gordon. "Son, please show Lou where the shooting range is."

"Sure, Dad."

"Jeff, I'd like a word with you this afternoon," Eleanor said, still a bit miffed.

"That's fine, Mother. I'll let you know when the vidconference is over." Jeff looked at his watch again and rose from the table. "I'd better hurry upstairs." He kissed his mother on the cheek as he passed, then left the room.

"Mrs. Tracy?" Lou said politely. "If you need help in the kitchen tomorrow, I'm willing and available."

"I'll let you know, Lucinda," Eleanor answered. She rose carefully from the table and began to help Kyrano gather the dishes.

The other diners began to rise, too, except for Gordon, who shoveled a few more bites of potato salad into his mouth. Lou touched him on the shoulder as she prepared to head out.

"I'm going to get my gun and be back in a few minutes."

Gordon nodded at her, and she snorted a chuckle at his cheeks, filled, chipmunk-like, with the chunks of potato.

Virgil walked out with Scott. "Well, I put my foot in my mouth, didn't I?" he complained. "I should have realized that Penelope wouldn't want to see me again."

Scott shook his head. "You don't know that, Virge. If she really didn't want to see you, she would have given Dad her answer over the phone. I mean, it's not like she's going to be able to avoid you entirely while she's here."

"Are you so sure?" Virgil asked ruefully, slipping his hands into his pockets, as they began to ascend the stairs. "She could shut herself up in the guest room again."

"She could, but I doubt she will."

"Yeah, well." The Thunderbird Two pilot made a sour face. "It's obvious that I've blown my chance."

His older brother rolled his eyes. "Obvious? To who? The only thing that's obvious is that Tin-Tin's a better choice to fly over and get her, that's all." He put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Don't borrow trouble. You've got enough of it already."

Virgil gave Scott a puzzled frown as the words sank in, then he snorted. "Can't a guy have a pity party around here without some clown crashing it?"'

"Nope," Scott said, smirking at his brother. "Listen, I've got to leave the party now and conduct some business before I go down to give Alan a hand with Three. I found out this morning that I'm executor of Peter's will."

Virgil stopped in his tracks, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "Executor? How the hell did that happen?"

He started walking again, and Scott, walking at his side, blew out a short, sharp breath. "He asked me at the stag party. I didn't think he was serious... but it seems he was."

By now they had reached the head of the stairs and turned toward their private quarters. "What's your plan for the afternoon?" Scott asked.

"Well, I can't practice in the lounge while Dad's in conference. Maybe I'll see if Kenny needs a hand since Alan is doing his post-flights."

"Sounds like a plan."

They stopped at the door to Virgil's room. "I'll talk to you later, Scott."

"Later, Virge."

Virgil disappeared into his suite, and Scott turned toward his own. As Scott entered and approached his desk, he noticed the light on his satellite phone was blinking quickly. He flipped it open and began to read through the names and numbers of those who had called him.

Groaning, he shook his head. _Pete and Mel's fathers have already called, as well as what looks to me like another law firm. And Mel herself has called twice. _Sighing, he keyed in his password, thinking, _This is only the beginning, _as he began to listen to the messages.

xxxx

The sofa and its piece of flooring disappeared from Thunderbird Three's lowest level, and reappeared a few moments later with a passenger: Tin-Tin. She had a plastic tote marked with a red cross parked next to her, and a covered tray in her lap. She had already delivered a lunch tray to Kenny. He and Alan had been in the middle of setting a piece of clear, molded, bullet-proof polyhexane into one of FAB-1's doors when the signal went off for lunch, and as a result, they didn't make it to the table. Now Kenny was replacing the rubberized seals around the door while Alan went back to his post-rescue checks of Thunderbird Three.

She had taken the monorail from the lab and steered it around the silo to the maintenance bay on the opposite side from the monorail entrance. It was good that the little red car didn't need much of a hand at the wheel, for Tin-Tin's thoughts were elsewhere. They were on her relationship with Alan, or rather, the lack of the same.

Ever since their adventure in Skyship One, when Alan had flatly stated that his life was too dangerous to share with anyone, he had been running hot and cold. Sometimes he was flirty and fun, and they spent long hours together. Other times, especially after a tough rescue, he would push her away, and not always gently either. She had learned after the first two or three of those episodes not to get overly emotional about it, but still, it hurt. And whenever the pendulum swung the other way, her hopes would rise and she would dare to think that, perhaps this time he would tell her how he really felt about her.

She had taken the lift from the maintenance bay to the floor of Thunderbird Three's silo, and had carried the tote and the tray over to the open railway car, where she had sent the hydraulic lift up into the bowels of the red space ship to retrieve the couch. Normally, viewing the sheer size of Three would send a tingle down her spine, but not this time. Boarding the couch with her burdens, she had ridden it up into the Thunderbird, seeing nothing of the walls of the entry tunnel, still lost in her thoughts of Alan.

_I love him, _she had admitted to herself. _And I am certain he loves me, and more than just a sister. I see it in his eyes sometimes, in his protectiveness, even in his possessiveness. But he refuses to make the first move. I wish he could get past his fear. _

She had shaken her head slightly, a motion which loosened the long strand of hair she had tucked behind one ear. _Perhaps it is time for me to take things into my own hands._

Her musings ended as the couch clicked into place, and she put the tray aside. She picked up the tote, placing the box of medical supplies in the lift, and then returning for the tray. In the tiny elevator, she punched the button that would take her up two levels. When she reached her destination - the storage compartment where the first aid supplies were kept - she stuck her head out and called, "Alan?"

"Here!" came the muffled response.

Tin-Tin pushed the box out with a foot, then stepped out herself. She walked around the circular central column with its many storage lockers, and found Alan on the far side, his arms to beyond the elbows in one of the open units, a small pile of folded, vacuum-packed blankets at his feet. One of the blankets had escaped its packaging and now cascaded out of the locker, draping over the edge, one edge touching the tops of Alan's work boots.

He turned and flashed a smile at her, a smile that sent a tingle up her spine. "A corner of the blanket's caught by a rough edge back here. I can't seem to get my fingers in there to loosen it. Would you try?"

"Okay," she said. "Better take the tray."

"Thanks!" he replied, accepting her burden and stepping out of the way.

Tin-Tin glanced in first, then slipped both slim arms inside, feeling around the blanket's edge. She found where the cloth was caught, a small ragged protrusion between the wall of the central column and the join where the side of the locker fastened to the wall. With a few deft motions, she teased the blanket loose and pulled the misshapen edge from the storage cabinet.

Turning to Alan, she found him sitting on the floor, eating a sandwich. He looked up at her and smiled, closed mouthed, his cheeks bulging with food. She laughed and began to fold up the blanket.

"How did that loose bit get past Brains?" she asked, tossing her head toward the cabinet. "You know how much of a stickler he was when we were building Three."

Alan put up a finger, indicating that she wait while he chewed and chewed, then swallowed. He took a swig of the iced tea she had brought, then said, "I have no idea. I don't know how long it's been like that either. I was pulling out the blankets to count them and found that one had snagged. It could have been that way for some time and we never noticed because we never got to the bottom of the blanket pile." He shrugged and took another bite of sandwich.

"I suppose one of us should get in there and fasten that down properly," Tin-Tin said with a sigh. "I'll get a laser welder and see what I can do after I help you with the medical supplies."

Alan swallowed again, took another drink and asked, "You brought everything I asked for?"

"Yes," she replied, nodding toward the door. "The box is over by the lift." Looking down at the blanket in her hands, she added, "I'll make sure this gets cleaned and repackaged, too."

His mouth once again full, Alan beckoned for her to come near, then patted the floor beside him, indicating that she should sit down. She smiled, and joined him.

He took another mouthful of tea, then smacked his lips. "This is sure hitting the spot. Several spots, in fact." He frowned a touch and asked, "Did Kenny get lunch? I didn't mean to abandon him..."

"I took him a tray, too," Tin-Tin explained. "He was too absorbed in what he was doing to do more than mumble 'thanks'." She shifted her hips so that she was inclined more toward him. "He gets pretty involved in his work, doesn't he?"

"Yeah. That's what makes him such a great mechanic." Alan snagged a bite of potato salad, masticated it, and said, "He told me last night that he's quitting IR."

"No! Really?" Tin-Tin cried, sitting up straighter. "Why?"

"He's worried about his family, especially after Peter's death," Alan replied, his voice sad. "I can see his point, really I can. It's the reason why..." Alan looked down at his tray. "Well, you know..."

There was a small, awkward silence. She looked at him searchingly, ignoring the bruises he'd garnered from the fight in the space station, trying to gauge what his feelings toward her really were at that moment in time. _I guess this is as good a time as any to tell him, _she thought as she considered his words before taking a deep breath and speaking.

"Yes, I _know_, Alan, but that doesn't mean I _understand_," she said, countering his unspoken argument. "It's not like I'm not part of the team, you know. I could be killed just as easily as you could, especially since I've been going out on more and more rescues." Reaching out, she put a hand on his arm. "There are people all over the world who have jobs like ours, sometimes even more dangerous ones, and they have spouses and children. Their families live every day with the thought that their loved one might not come back to them in one piece or at all."

He turned his face away, and she caught his chin with her free hand, gently pulling him around to face her again. His eyes were looking down, and she dipped her head to gain contact with them. As she did, he slowly raised his head and gazed at her, his expression one of longing mixed with fear.

She slowly shook her head. "Don't tell me that you don't love me, Alan, because it's not true. I know it, here." She put a hand to her chest. "And I love you, Alan. I have for a long time now. It's right for us to be together." She squeezed his arm gently. "I'm willing to take the chance, Alan. I'd much rather have you and love you for a short time than for none at all."

Alan took a deep breath and let it out slowly, blinking against the sudden moisture in his eyes. _Oh, God. Not this. Why here? Why now? What do I say? She's right... but I'm afraid. Dare I tell her that? Will she think less of me if I do? Do I really have any other choice?_

He swallowed, took a deep breath, and said, his voice rough, "I'm scared, Tin-Tin. I watched what my father went through when he lost Mom and... I'm afraid. Afraid of going through that. Afraid of putting someone else through it. Of putting _you_ through that." He put a hand over the one she had on his arm, and shook his head. "This... job I have, there's so much that can go wrong... the chance of not coming home is too great..."

"Alan," Tin-Tin interrupted gently, "you're not your father. And I have this job, too. The chances of you, of me, of _us_ coming home intact are just as great, if not greater than, the chance of dying on the job. Your brothers, your skills see to that. We can't see tomorrow, Alan. We can only see today. Let us seize it, with both hands." She pulled her hands away and clenched them, palms up, as if holding something tightly.

He blinked again, and moistened his lips. "I... I do love you, Tin-Tin. I just don't want to lose you."

"Then stop pushing me away," she replied softly. She reached out to stroke his face. "Alan, I love you. I have always loved you and I always will. Marry me, Alan. Please marry me. Be mine forever."

Alan's eyes widened with surprise. _Oh, God! I never expected...! _He huffed out a light chuckle, and said, "I always thought it was the guy who was supposed to propose."

One of Tin-Tin's eyebrows went up and she sighed, pursing her lips. "Oh, Alan!" She shook her head quickly. "Sometimes you're so old-fashioned. This _is _the twenty-first century, you know."

"Yeah," he murmured. "I know." He leaned in to kiss her. She responded, softly at first, then she took his face in her hands and kissed him again, more forcefully, more passionately. Surprised, he fell over sideways, one shoulder meeting the floor, then the other as he twisted onto his back, his hips nearly perpendicular to his torso. His knee shoved the tray as she fell across him, still reaching for his face even though his hip was shoved into her abdomen. Iced tea spilled onto the rubberized floor.

Taking her wrists, he pulled her hips over his, startling her. Then he settled his spine and buttocks flat on the floor while she lay on him, chest to chest. She smiled, and brought her knees up on either side of him, kneeling, then tried to put her hands down to take her weight off of him. He obliged by letting go of her wrists, and she leaned over him, the dark curtain of her hair shoved to one side, its ends tickling the side of his face.

"Now I have you right where I want you," she said, teasing.

She leaned in to kiss him again, but he smiled and said, "No, I've got _you_!" With that, he reached up with his fingertips and lightly tickled her sides.

"Alan! No!" she shrieked, sitting bolt upright and drawing her arms tightly to her sides. Alan laughed and reached out to find the ticklish spots that she couldn't cover. She wriggled and shrieked some more, laughing too, making Alan feel a warm and welcome sensation as her thrashing rubbed her buttocks over his most sensitive parts.

He stopped his tickling, and propped himself up on his elbows, smiling at her, his blue eyes half-lidded and lazy looking. Tin-Tin gazed back at him, feeling a delicious shiver as she realized what was happening between them. She leaned over again and kissed him, her almond eyes half closing, one hand on the floor to steady her. He reached up push back her hair by sliding the fingers of one hand into it and cupping the side of her head. One kiss became two, then three, then another, then more, each coming on the heels of the one before, each lasting longer.

Then suddenly, there was the sound of the lift door opening, and a voice called out, "Alan?"

Tin-Tin sat up straight again, looking toward the lift with a wide-eyed, doe-caught-in-headlights look. Alan put down the elbow of the hand he'd been cupping her head with, and turned his face as far as it would go over his shoulder.

"Over here, Scott," he called.

Scott appeared and stopped short, taking in the sight of his brother lying on the floor, with Tin-Tin atop him, her knees straddling his hips and a deep blush spreading over her stricken face.

His mouth opened and closed several times before he could sputter, "Uh, am I, uh, interrupting something?"

Alan considered the question for a moment, then shook his head. "No, not really." And before Tin-Tin could react, he added, "We're just getting engaged over here."

"Oh, Alan!" Tin-Tin screamed and, oblivious to Scott standing there gaping, she grabbed Alan's head and planted a long, steamy kiss on his lips, then added little smooches all over his face for good measure.

"En... engaged?" Scott stammered, his eyes wide.

"Yes, Scott. Engaged," Alan said with a smug tone. "As in Tin-Tin has asked me to marry her and I'm saying 'yes'." He motioned for Tin-Tin to get up, and as soon as she had, he followed, groaning a bit. "Man, that floor is hard!"

He took Tin-Tin's hand and the two of them stood before his elder brother, who was scratching his head and wordlessly pointing from one to the other.

"Uh... I... um," Scott muttered. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "I always thought it was the guy's job to propose."

Alan shook his head and tsked. "Scotty, old man, you're behind the times. This _is _the twenty-first century, y'know. Hey, ow!" He rubbed his upper arm where Tin-Tin had smacked him.

"Uh, yeah, but... uh... aw, hell!" Scott grinned and held out his hand. "Congratulations and it's about time!"

"Thank you, Scott, and I agree!" Tin-Tin said with a smile as she let go of Alan's hand to take his and pull him in for a sisterly hug.

"Hey, don't I get any love around here?" Alan asked facetiously.

"From the looks of it, you were almost about to--ahem--get just that," Scott quipped as he hugged his brother, causing Tin-Tin's face to flame scarlet again.

"Yeah. We'll have to do something about that, won't we, Tin-Tin?" Alan replied, reaching around her to tickle her side.

She giggled and squirmed a little, then slapped his hand soundly. "You behave yourself, Alan Shepherd Tracy, or I'll report you to your grandmother!"

"Oooh! The ultimate threat!" Alan responded, shaking his stinging hand. "I'll behave myself."

Their laughter died down and Tin-Tin took Alan's hand again. There was a slightly uncomfortable moment of quiet, then Scott asked, "What else needs to be done around here? I'll be glad to lend a hand; you two should probably head upstairs to spread the happy news."

"Uh, well, we've got to clean up this mess I've made of my lunch," Alan said ruefully, looking down at the tray of ruined food and the sticky spot of iced tea. "There are the medical supplies over by the lift that need to be put away, and a rough spot in that storage bin to be welded."He pointed over to the offending space."I also need to run diagnostics on the gravity generators and refuel the retros."

"Tell you what," Scott offered. "You two work down here with the clean up and restocking. I'll see to whatever's wrong in that storage bin, run the diagnostics, and refuel the retros. How does that sound?"

"That sounds great, Scott, thanks!" Alan said gratefully. "I appreciate it."

"We both do," Tin-Tin said firmly.

"Okay then," Scott said, cracking his knuckles by interlocking his fingers and stretching his hands out before him. "Let's get cracking."

Tin-Tin and Alan glanced at each other and groaned in unison.


	11. It's about time, isn't it?

_Author's Note:_ Lou spends some quality time with Oscar. Eleanor talks with her son. Alan and Tin-Tin spread the happy news, and two people continue their investigations. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

Now for those who reviewed the current chapters _of Overtures_:

**Emerald Queen: **Thanks for the good words on Tin-Tin and Alan. I figured that after Alan's assinine remark about his life being too dangerous, it would have to be Tin-Tin who pushed their relationship forward. But I didn't expect how much forward she'd push it. I usually warn all the Virgil fangirls when he goes on about Penelope, just on general principles. And there's a little more about Rachel in this chapter.

**Eternal Density:** Sometimes I feel like I'm spending a lot of time continuing the story arcs with character development, but there should be more actual action soon. We'll see how well Virgil handles things when Penelope actually gets there.

**Math Girl:** Oh, I'm so glad you liked the proposal. Tin-Tin surprised me with that. Now you get to see some reaction to the step that the two of them have made.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

"Wow! Nice!" Lou said as she looked around the indoor shooting gallery. There were three long lanes set up, all brightly lit, with bulls' eye targets at the end of the lanes. 

"Yeah, it is," Gordon said with a hint of pride in his voice. "This is just for pistols. We have an outdoor rifle range, too."

She nodded in approval and turned to him. "Do you have any body shaped targets? That's what I'm used to using."

"Oh, yeah. Let me set one up for you," Gordon said. He opened a cabinet and pulled out a roll of white target paper, each sheet printed with the black silhouette of a human torso, a bulls' eye squarely where the center of the forehead would be, and another slightly to the right of the torso's center as he looked at it. He took a sheet down to the end of the targeting lane and replaced the colored circle with it.

As he worked, he called back over his shoulder, "I got an interesting email today concerning your niece, Rachel!"

Lou glanced up at him from fastening on her shoulder holster. "Oh? What about?"

"Seems she saw my picture in a textbook and asked my friend, who took the picture, who I was." He finished the job and turned back. "My friend gave her my real name."

As he approached, he saw that Lou was loading her weapon, pointing its muzzle toward the floor. "A Beretta?"

"Yes, a semi-automatic. It's lightweight and very fast." She looked up from her gun. "How did your picture get into a textbook? And do you have ear protectors and safety glasses? I didn't bring mine."

"Sure." He walked back to the cabinet again and opened it. Pulling out a pair of heavy-looking red headphones and a clear safety visor, he brought them over to her. "Here you go. As for the textbook, the picture was taken during my year's stay in an experimental undersea colony while with the Submarine Service. When my year was up, I transferred over to WASP."

Lou draped the headphones over her neck, and put on the visor. "When was this? I remember your mother telling me that you'd joined the Submariners, but not about the year under the sea."

Gordon sighed. "It was right after she died. I'd done six months of basic training and I was home on leave before becoming part of the program. That's when we went to Vail and she... died." He shrugged. "I was given an extra two weeks of compassionate leave then was sent right to work in the colony. It was good therapy, really. I didn't have too much time to dwell on her loss. I was, however, there for Dad's breakdown. Scott tried to talk me into leaving the Service, stay home and help Dad but... I couldn't, any more than he could leave the Air Force at that point."

Lou frowned, trying to do the math in her head. "Wait a minute. How old were you when you were in the Submarine Service?"

"Eighteen. I went in straight out of high school. Why?"

Lou snorted, a self-deprecating laugh. "That makes you twenty-five now, doesn't it? I mentioned to your grandmother that I thought you were twenty-four and she didn't even blink an eye."

"Oh, so you've been talking to Grandma about me?" Gordon asked in a teasing tone.

"Not exactly," Lou replied with a sigh. She quickly changed the subject. "So, about Rachel. She's got your real name, and if I know my niece, she won't stop until she finds out everything she can about you, including the fact that you're the son of the man she met in North Carolina."

"My friend sent me a copy of her letter," Gordon said, a small frown creasing his brows. "Does she really study marine biology?"

"Yep. At the University of New England. They've got a marine studies program on the coast in Biddeford. My brother-in-law, Chuck, is provost at the main campus in Portland." She smiled at him. "Are you interested in her?"

Gordon thought about this for a minute, then said, "Maybe. If she's lucky."

Lou laughed. "Yeah, right. You'll be the lucky one, Gordon. My niece is a very picky gal. The fact that you present a mystery to her is half the attraction."

"Takes after you that way, huh?"

"Damn straight she does."

He frowned again. "I meant to bring this situation up to Dad earlier. Do you think this could compromise security?"

This stopped Lou in her tracks. She thought for a moment, then said hesitantly, "I don't know. It all depends on what the forensics team found at the scene and if they're able to trace it back to IR or the family. That, and whether or not it becomes public knowledge." She gave him a keen look and a nod. "Thanks for bringing this up to me, Gordon. I'll keep an eye open on the web to see what connections, if any, have been made." She motioned with her empty hand toward the target. "Right now, Mr. Boddy awaits."

"Mr. Boddy?" Gordon looked confused for a moment, then his face cleared. "Clue!"

"Right," Lou replied, smiling. "Well, I'd better get to it."

"Okay. Will you be okay down here by yourself?" Gordon asked.

"Yes. I should be."

"Then I'll see if I can find Dad. He'll want to know about Rachel." He pressed the door button and it swished aside for him. "Talk to you later."

"Later, Gordon."

The redhead left, and Lou put on the headphones. She stepped up to the firing line and arranged her body in the firing stance she had been taught so long ago in her police academy days. Her legs were spread slightly apart and knees were bent just a touch, her upper body bent slightly at the waist. She held her arms straight before her, her left hand cupping and supporting her right as she sighted the target.

An image rose in her mind's eye, one that she sometimes saw as she began practicing: darkness, a white, frightened face, flashes of fire from a gun's muzzle. She stiffened, then pushed the image aside savagely and instead brought up the handsome, leering face of James Clayton Franks. A slight nod, and she relaxed into her stance, then pulled the trigger.

xxxx

Kyrano was surprised to see Jeff come into the kitchen, take out a mug from one of the overhead cupboards, and pour himself a cup of coffee from the pot that Kyrano had made, anticipating Jeff's summons.

"Your vidconference was profitable?" the retainer asked, pausing in his current project, beating a breast of chicken with the flat side of a meat tenderizer mallet.

"More like brutal," Jeff grumbled. "But I think I finally got through to the Tokyo people that we were not interested in bidding on a floating hotel and casino project."

"Ah. I see," Kyrano answered, nodding. He went back to beating the defenseless chicken breast.

"Kyrano?" Jeff asked, leaning up against the counter top. "What was going on at lunch this afternoon? Is there something about my mother that I'm missing here?"

Kyrano stopped what he was doing. He stood quietly at for a moment gathering his thoughts, then he turned to Jeff. "Ever since your mother has returned from Kansas, I have noticed a change in her stamina. She tires more easily than before."

Jeff sipped his coffee. "I suppose that's to be expected. She's getting on in years and this flu really knocked her for a loop."

"Yes, one would think so," Kyrano said, frowning a bit. "But there is more. She has stumbled or dropped things several times in my presence. I have seen her stop and sway gently, her eyes closed. When I ask what is wrong, she tells me that she stood up too fast, or has been in one place for too long. More often than not these days, she tells me she is fine and just needs to have a cup of tea. On at least two occasions she has told me she is 'just tired' and needs to lie down. She would go off for an hour or so and return, refreshed and able to work again. But when she gets 'tired', she becomes pale and sometimes trembles slightly."

Jeff put his coffee cup down. "This is surprising, Kyrano. I haven't seen any of this."

"I know, Mr. Tracy. That is why I have not brought it to your attention before," Kyrano said, looking down. "I was not sure if you would believe the extent of the impairment. You do not see her at work here in the kitchen, or in other parts of the villa. But I have. And I am very concerned."

Jeff took another drink of his coffee, grimaced, and rubbed his chin. "You're right; I don't usually see her working in other parts of the house. But I do believe you. Thank you for your concern, and for telling me. The problem is: how do I broach this subject to _her_? She hates going to the doctor and trying to determine the cause of something like this would probably require a good deal of testing. I'm not sure Brains would want to tackle it, either."

The retainer shook his head. "I believe you are correct about Mr. Brains." He went back to flattening the meat again. "I wish you well as you try to convince her."

"Thanks," Jeff said dryly. "I think I'll check her suite and see if she's there. She wants to talk to me anyway." He sighed. "Growing old isn't all it's cracked up to be, is it, Kyrano?"

Kyrano smiled slightly. "No, Mr. Tracy. It is not."

Jeff finished his last swallow of coffee, rinsed out his cup, and set it on the counter by the sink. "See you at dinner, Kyrano."

The Malaysian nodded, and Jeff left, heading for his mother's suite of rooms.

In the downstairs hall, he encountered Gordon.

"Dad? Do you have a minute?" Gordon asked. "I have something I've been meaning to tell you."

"Can it wait a bit, son?" Jeff asked. "I promised your grandmother that we'd talk once my vidconference was over."

"Uh, sure," the redhead replied affably. "After dinner?"

"Right. See you then, Gordon," Jeff said, nodding. He stepped up to his mother's door and knocked, while his son went off to get a soft drink.

xxxx

"Come in!" Eleanor called to whoever was outside her door. She was sitting at her sewing machine, stitching together the new, navy blue revision of Gordon's prototype uniform. She didn't make the individual uniforms any more; the boys went through them entirely too quickly for her to keep up. Instead, there was a small group of tailors and seamstresses, all checked out security wise, who made the shirts and pants under the command of an IR agent. Another firm made the boots and hats. The materials they used were supplied by a small concern owned by Jeff through a dummy corporation. After the impostors scare, Jeff tightened security on the fabric, thinking that perhaps the pseudo-IR operatives had gotten hold of some. He had been nonplussed as to how the impostors had even been able to duplicate the uniforms.

_But it seems that our security isn't as tight as it should be, _Eleanor thought as she checked on the progress of the sleeve she was working on. The computer could be counted on to do a fine job, most of the time. But she liked to keep an eye on it anyway. There were two items she did make when she had time: the sashes and the emblems. Her computerized machine did an excellent job with embroidery.

The door swished open and Jeff walked in, smiling. "Hello, Ma."

"This is a surprise," she said, returning the smile and leaning out for a kiss on the cheek, which Jeff gave her.

"Just let me finish this little bit and I'll be right with you," she said. There wasn't much more to do on the sleeve and it was better to complete it than try to start up again in the middle of a stitch.

"I thought I might come down here and talk with you instead of in the lounge," he said as he sat on her settee. "I've been there almost all day and I needed to get out."

"That's a good idea, Jeff. It seems I rarely use my sitting room unless I want to watch something on the televid." She checked the sleeve - just a few more inches.

"Yes, that's true for me, too," Jeff admitted. "The lounge is where I spend most of my time. I usually need to be there, in the thick of things. When I'm sitting in my suite, I feel out of it and alone." He shook his head. "But today I couldn't wait to get out of the lounge and clear my head."

"Was it the vidconference?" she asked, glancing down at the machine. _Done! _She picked up the sleeve and turned it right side out to inspect the seam. _Perfect!_

"Yes," Jeff replied. "That and the fact that I've been there all morning and afternoon so far, talking to people. Brains, Kenny, Scott... I think I should install a revolving door!"

They laughed at his comment and Eleanor laid aside the sleeve to join her son. Once she was settled down next to him, he asked, "So, Ma. What did you want to talk about?" he asked.

"Lucinda," she said bluntly.

Jeff lifted his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head slightly. "Ma, I..."

Eleanor interrupted. "I want to know how long she will be here and what you plan for her to do in the organization."

Jeff glared at his mother for a long moment. "Why do you want to know?"

Eleanor was prepared for this question. "I want to know how long she would be staying in the Round House and if we should make other accommodations in the main house for her and her cats. I'd also like to know how long we can expect to be ordering cat food and other such paraphernalia."

This took Jeff aback, and his face softened. "Well, I didn't expect this, Ma. It sounds like you're beginning to welcome Lucinda."

"Not exactly," Eleanor said with a sour tone. "It's just that I know there's nothing I can do about her being here. This is your house, and your island, and you'll have who you please for as long as you please. I'm just trying to get a handle on the situation."

Jeff's face fell. "I might have known. Well, to answer both of your questions, I don't know yet. Lou and I have discussed a few possible ways that we could best use her skills but we haven't put anything in concrete. And the length of her stay will depend on how long the authorities continue to search for her as well as what we decide she will do within IR. I'd say, as a ball park figure, you can expect her to stay at least a month. As far as moving up into the main house is concerned, you'll have to take that up with her. She's free to do so if she wants to, once Kenny and Penelope have returned home."

They glowered at each other for a moment, then Eleanor nodded. "A month, then."

"At _least _a month," Jeff corrected. "Possibly longer."

"All right." She sat up straight on the edge of the settee, hands folded in her lap. "I suppose that if I asked you about your current relationship with her, you'd tell me that it was none of my business."

"You're right. I would," Jeff agreed, nodding.

"Hmph," was her reply.

The atmosphere was getting more and more uncomfortable, and Jeff fidgeted in his seat. _This is as good a time as any to broach the subject, I suppose, _he thought. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Ma?"

"Yes, Jeff?"

"I'd like you to... I think you..." He let out an exasperated huff then let the words spill out quickly. "Would you please make an appointment with your doctor in Wellington? A check up... because of the flu. I think... I'd like to make sure that you're okay."

Eleanor frowned at him in disbelief. "Whatever gave you that fool idea?"

"I just..." Jeff got to his feet, putting his hands in his pockets. He paced back and forth before his mother. Looking first down at the floor, then over at her, he sighed heavily. "Ma, seeing you in that hospital bed scared me," he said in a low, serious voice. "You've never been that sick before; at least, not that I can remember. I'd feel better if you had some follow up, that's all."

"Oh," was all that Eleanor could think to say. She turned her eyes away from Jeff for a moment, then gazed back up at him. "If it'll make you feel better, I'll talk to Dr. Cruz the next time he's out this way. I dare say he'll be out to visit us within the next month or so, and if he's not, then I'll make the appointment with my doctor in Wellington."

"No, Ma," Jeff said, shaking his head. "I'd like you to see your doctor in Wellington, and soon. Dr. Cruz won't be out here for a while - I hope - and by that time... well, the sooner you are seen, the better I'll feel."

"I don't know what burr you've got up your butt, Jefferson Tracy," Eleanor said peevishly. "But it's obvious you have one. I wish you'd just spit it out and speak plainly. Give me one good reason to go to my doctor and I'll do it!"

Jeff shook his head. He really didn't want to reveal what Kyrano had told him; he knew she'd just brush it off and then have "a few words" with the retainer on the subject. "I already told you, Ma!" he said fervently, trying to get through to her. "You scared me! I've never seen you so pale, so weak! And I think it would be a good idea for you to have some sort of follow up!"

She shook her head stubbornly, but her voice was soothing as she said, "Jeff, there's no reason to be so concerned. I'm feeling better and getting stronger each and every day. Another week and you'll never know that I'd been sick." She smiled reassuringly at him. "I know this scared you. It scared me, too, if truth be told. But I'm all right, son. Really I am."

Jeff rubbed his temples, where the beginnings of a headache where making themselves known. Then he ran a hand through his hair, and sat down heavily next to her. "Okay, Ma. You win. I'll make your appointment myself."

Eleanor frowned again. "Haven't you heard a word I've said? I'm fine."

"I've heard every word you've said, Ma. But I still want you to have that follow up visit, and I'm going to make sure you do."

"Hrmph!" Eleanor groused, folding her arms and scowling. "You're as stubborn as your father!"

"No, Ma," Jeff said, a weary smile crossing his face. "I didn't get my stubbornness from Dad. I got it from you."

This last comment made Eleanor glance at him out of the corner of her eye, then huff out a little laugh. "I guess you did, at that."

"C'mere, Ma," he said, opening his arms. She leaned toward him, her arms still folded as his wrapped around her from the side, then she let go of her pose and patted his arms, turning a little to return the embrace. He kissed her on the cheek and let her go.

"I'll let you know when the doctor can see you," he told her.

"All right, Jeff. I'll go. But don't you get used to pushing me around," she replied, shaking a gnarled finger at him.

"No, ma'am," Jeff replied with a smile. His smile faded as he remembered something else he wanted to discuss with his mother. _In for a penny, in for a pound, _he thought wryly.

"Ma? There's something else I've been meaning to talk to you about," he ventured solemnly.

"What is it, Jeff?" she replied, responding to his serious tone with a matching one.

He bit his lower lip gently, letting it slide between his teeth, then he sighed lightly. "Ever since Peter died, and you were so sick, I've been wondering: what kind of final arrangements have you made, if any?" His blue eyes met hers. "I know that this isn't something people usually talk about. But I'd like to be prepared for when that day comes."

Eleanor sat back against the settee. "You know, I hadn't given much thought about it since your father died, at least, not until this last illness. My life has been so busy, and so exciting since I came out here that it took being hospitalized to remind me that I'm mortal after all." She rose from the settee carefully, and held out a hand to him. "Come with me, Jeff."

Jeff stood, and took her hand. She led him into her bedroom, and fetched an old-fashioned key from her jewelry box. Then she crossed to an antique cedar chest.

She smiled as she smoothed her hand over the well-burnished wood, then she inserted the key into a small metal knob on the front of the chest. Turning it, she lifted the lid simultaneously, and Jeff added his strength to help her. The sweet, clean fragrance of cedar wafted out, and Eleanor breathed it in appreciatively.

"This was my mother's hope chest. Back when she was a girl, young women bought these before their weddings to put their linens and blankets in. The cedar kept moths away, and made sure everything smelled nice. Before her generation, women would put their trousseaus in them, along with the things they had knitted, crocheted or embroidered in preparation for their marriage."

Jeff noticed a small stack of IR patches in a shallow tray that pulled up and away from the deeper part of the chest and he smiled. Eleanor reached in and pulled out a metal box and handed it to him.

"Now, these are copies of my will, my final wishes, and information on the cemetery plot where your father is buried. The originals are in my safe deposit box in Topeka, and the information on that is in this envelope, along with the keypad combination. I've made my old friend Maru Soo executrix of my estate, and there's information on which law firm will handle the legal end of things. However, should she die before me, you are the executor. Everything should be in apple-pie order. I made sure of it just after your father died."

She reached up to stroke his cheek just once. "Put this in your safe so you know where it is when you need it."

Jeff peered down into the hope chest and noticed a number of small books, all with different colored bindings. "What are those, Ma?"

"Those are my journals, Jeff. I've always been one to write down my thoughts and feelings. In fact, I encouraged Lucille to do the same."

"I remember," he said, his face suddenly sad. "I have them all, but I've never had the courage to read them."

She patted his cheek. "Maybe some day you will." Turning around, she put the lid down again very carefully and was rewarded by the click that said the chest was locked up again.

Jeff stared at the box in his hand, and swallowed. He felt his mother's hand on his face again, and gave her a small, sad smile.

"I'd better take care of this," he murmured. Then suddenly, he pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Oh, Ma! Don't leave me anytime soon, okay?"

Eleanor wrapped her skinny arms around her son and held him as tightly as she could, pressing the side of her face against his chest. "Not if I can help it, son. Not if I can help it."

xxxx

"So, whose father do we tell first?" Alan asked as he maneuvered the monorail car out of Thunderbird Three's silo.

"Hmm. Good question," Tin-Tin said, her face puckered into a thoughtful frown. "It's traditional for the man to ask permission of the woman's father..."

"But you did the proposing," Alan playfully reminded her. "Maybe you should ask my father for permission to marry me, first. Then I can ask yours."

Tin-Tin laughed. "That would be so funny! I can just see your father's face." She moved to stand next to him, sliding an arm around his waist. "Let's do it that way. I'll ask your father. Then you can ask mine. Or I can ask mine if it's okay for me to marry you. Give them something to think about."

They both laughed as the monorail came smoothly to a halt at the terminus. From there they would take an elevator up to the main house. Alan climbed out, and offered a hand to Tin-Tin, who took it and stepped daintily out. As soon as she was clear, Alan took her in his arms and kissed her soundly. She returned the kiss, and they gazed at each other, realizing the enormity of the step they were about to take, and more than that, the _rightness_ of it.

"Let's go," Alan said, his voice husky. "Let's go up and tell our families what we're going to do."

"Yes," Tin-Tin replied, breathless.

They stepped into the elevator, and rode it upstairs to spread the good news.

xxxx

"Mr. Tracy?"

Jeff held up a finger, wordlessly telling Tin-Tin that he would be with her in a moment. "Is that the earliest appointment you have?" he said to whoever was on the other end of the vidphone. The young couple couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, because Jeff had his earphone/boom mike sitting in his right ear and plugged in to the vidphone. "Yes, please. Put us on the list in case of a cancellation. I want my mother seen as soon as possible."

Alan and Tin-Tin exchanged worried glances as the conversation continued. "I wonder what's wrong with Grandma?" Alan asked in a whisper.

"I don't know, but it sounds serious," Tin-Tin whispered back. She shook her head. "Maybe we should wait on this."

"Too late!" Alan replied, nudging her. Jeff had finished his call and was turning his attention to the two young people before him.

He smiled. "I'm sorry about that. Now, what was it you wanted, Tin-Tin?"

Alan spoke up. "First, Dad, what's wrong with Grandma?"

Jeff sighed. He didn't want to worry his sons but he didn't want to lie to them either. He had to tell them something that would accomplish both objectives.

"Your grandmother hasn't been herself since she had the flu, Alan. I want her to have a follow-up visit, make sure that she's going to be okay."

"Not herself?" his son asked, puzzled. "I haven't seen anything wrong."

"But I have," Tin-Tin said quietly. "She was having some trouble when we were putting Gordon's uniform together. She complained of dizziness and headaches once or twice. I asked her what was wrong, but she just said she needed to lie down. It did seem to help."

Jeff nodded. He was grateful that Tin-Tin had seen this, too, and wondered how dense he must have been because he hadn't. "Thank you, Tin-Tin. That's exactly the reason I want her to see a doctor. Since she refused to make the appointment herself, I did it for her. And I'll make sure she goes, too."

"This is a shock," Alan said, his eyes wide. He huffed out a breath and ran his hand through his hair. "Do you think she'll be okay?"

His father smiled reassuringly. "I think so, son. She's tough, like all of us Tracys."

This seemed to comfort Alan, and he smiled. He glanced over at Tin-Tin. "Well, Tin-Tin, are we ready to give Dad another shock?"

Jeff looked from his son to his assistant engineer. "A shock?"

The Malaysian girl smiled widely, then strode boldly up to Jeff's desk. "Mr. Tracy? May I have permission to marry your son, Alan?" she said, holding her chin up proudly and with a twinkle in her eyes.

The Tracy patriarch sat back in his chair and blinked several times. "_Y-You _are asking _my _permission to marry _him_?" He looked over at his son. "Alan? What's this all about?"

Alan stepped forward and stood beside Tin-Tin, taking her hand. "Tin-Tin asked me to marry her, and I've said yes." He glanced down, then faced his father with a sheepish grin. "I know it's not the way things are traditionally done..."

"To hell with tradition!" Jeff flung himself out of his chair and hustled around his desk to embrace Tin-Tin and swing her around. She squealed and laughed, and when he put her down, he embraced his son, thumping him soundly on the back. "It's about damned time!"

"I guess this means I have your permission?" Tin-Tin asked coyly.

"It most certainly does! My permission and my blessing!" Jeff put an arm around her shoulders and around Alan's. "This calls for a celebration!"

"Uh, Dad?" Alan interjected. "I... I, uh, want to talk to Kyrano first. We asked you before we asked him because, well, she had done the proposing. But it's really important to us to have his blessing, too. So, please, don't call down to the kitchen just yet."

"All right," Jeff said, squeezing his son's shoulders. "You two go and do what you need to."

"And, Mr. Tracy?" Tin-Tin asked.

She was interrupted. "It's going to have to be 'Jeff' from now on, Tin-Tin." He released Alan enough to wag a finger at her. "Can't have my future daughter-in-law calling me 'Mr. Tracy', can I?"

Tin-Tin blushed, and smiled. "Of course not... Jeff. It will take some getting used to, that's all. But what I wanted to ask is for you not to tell Mrs. Tracy either. I would like to tell her myself, once we speak to my father."

"Sure, Tin-Tin, sure. She'll be thrilled to hear the good news." He let go of her and she took Alan's hand. "You two go and talk to Kyrano. Let me know what he says."

"Thank you, M... I mean, Jeff." She kissed him on the cheek, then she and Alan scurried from the room holding hands, their fingers intertwined.

Jeff walked back behind his desk, and all but flung himself into his chair. He laughed, then pulled out his bottle of Scotch. Pouring himself just one finger's worth, he raised the glass and said to the air, "One of our boys is finally tying the knot, Lucy. To Alan and Tin-Tin!" He tossed back the drink, smacked his lips with a satisfied, "Ah!" then put the bottle away.

He glanced around the room. "Who can I tell?" His eyes lighted on John's picture. "No, Alan will want to tell him personally. Same with the other boys, and Brains." He saw Penelope's picture and shook his head. "No, Tin-Tin will want to tell her." Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "Lou. I can tell Lou. I wonder where she is?" He got up from his chair again and headed for the door to the balcony. "She was going to get in some target practice, but I'll try the Round House first."

xxxx

Tin-Tin peeked around the corner into the kitchen, then pulled back to tell Alan, "He's breading the chicken cordon bleu. I'm not sure it's a good time."

"Will it ever be a good time?" Alan asked frankly. "I'd much rather ask him now when his hands are too covered in goo for him to take a cleaver to me..."

"Oh, Alan!" Tin-Tin chided playfully. "He's not going to take a cleaver to you... a boning knife, maybe, but not a cleaver."

"Thanks a lot, Tin-Tin!" Alan retorted. "That makes me feel really confident."

"I was teasing and you know it!" she declared.

He snorted a laugh. "Yeah, I do." He pulled her close and was just about to plant a kiss on her lips when they were interrupted by a soft, "Ahem."

"Father!" Tin-Tin squeaked, turning to see Kyrano in the doorway, his arms folded, but no sharp implements in sight.

"I could hear you both quite clearly even though you were speaking softly," he said dryly. "You have something to tell me, daughter? Mr. Alan?"

Alan stood to attention and licked his dry lips. "Uh, actually, sir, I have something to ask of you."

One of Kyrano's eyebrows went up and he said, "Indeed? Then ask."

The youngest Tracy fidgeted a little, and cleared his throat. Behind him, Tin-Tin peered out at her father, putting a hand over her mouth. This was her father at his sternest, as he often had been with her as she grew up.

"Well, sir," Alan began, feeling Tin-Tin's presence behind him as she put a hand on his shoulder. "Today, your daughter asked me to marry her, and I accepted her proposal. But I know that things are done more traditionally in your culture, and so I am asking for both your permission to wed Tin-Tin, and your blessing on our union." He took deep breaths as he said his piece, trying to think before he spoke. When he finished, he looked hopefully at Kyrano, shifting his weight from side to side a little as he waited the older man's response.

"Daughter?"

The summons made Tin-Tin creep slowly out from behind Alan's broad back. She stood beside him, very close, and took his hand as she answered, "Yes, Father?"

"Is this true?" Kyrano asked, cocking his head a little at her. "Did you indeed ask this man to marry you?"

Tin-Tin straightened up, took a deep breath and said with a touch of pride, "Yes, Father. I did. I asked him to marry me."

"Have you sought permission from _his_ father, seeing as it was you who proposed?"

"Yes, sir, we have, and he has given both his permission and his blessing," Alan replied before Tin-Tin could. "But we thought it fitting that I ask you as well."

Kyrano's stern demeanor softened, and he smiled. "It is about time you two came to an understanding," he said, moving forward to hug his daughter. "I am very happy that you have finally done so." He shook Alan's hand, then bowed to him. "I am pleased to give you permission to take my daughter as your wife, and I add my blessing to that of my good friend as you join your lives together."

Alan had visibly relaxed, and he returned the bow with a soft, "Thank you, sir." Tin-Tin was beaming, and she moved forward to give her father a kiss on the cheek.

Kyrano returned the salute, then said, "This calls for a celebration. The meal itself will be worthy of the event, but I will have to chill some champagne and make an appropriate dessert to add to the festive occasion. If you will excuse me, I must get back to work."

"I will help you, Father, as soon as we tell Mrs. Tracy the good news," Tin-Tin promised.

The retainer shook his head. "There will be no need. I am able to do all that is required. Now, go and tell Mrs. Tracy. I know she will thrilled."

Alan bowed again, a deep, respectful obeisance. "Thank you again, sir. I will try my best to make Tin-Tin happy."

Kyrano responded in kind. "I know you will, Alan. Now, go."

Grinning from ear-to-ear, Alan took Tin-Tin's hand and they both nearly skipped out of the dining room, heading for Eleanor's suite.

Outside, Jeff bounded down the stairs to the pool level, intending to cross the patio and continue his quick hike over to the Round House. He stopped in his tracks when he was hailed by Gordon, who had spotted him from within the pool.

"Dad! Hey, Dad! Can I talk to you now?"

Jeff slowed, then stopped and turned to walk back to the pool. Gordon had climbed out, sliding his goggles off over the top of his ginger colored hair. He picked up a towel and began to dry off.

"What did you need to see me about, Gordon?" Jeff asked as he approached.

Gordon tousled his hair with a towel, and some of his words were muffled somewhat. "Do you remember Lou's niece, Rachel? Lou said you'd met her before."

"Yes, I remember her," Jeff said. "What about her?"

Putting a foot up on a lounger, Gordon dried his legs. "Do you remember that photographer friend of mine? The one who was part of the undersea study on kelp farming: Maggie Palaia?"

Jeff thought for a moment. "I don't think I do."

"That's okay. The whole gist of the thing is that she took a picture of me at one of the kelp farms and it ended up in a marine biology textbook."

His father paused to take on this information. "All right. You have a picture in a textbook. Where does Lou's niece come into all of this?"

Gordon settled the towel around his neck. "It seems Rachel studies marine biology at a college in Maine. She saw the picture and tracked down Maggie, then emailed her to find out more about me. Maggie replied, giving Rachel my real name. Then she emailed me to warn me about what she'd done."

"And this means exactly... what?"

The younger man shrugged, palms upward. "I'm not sure. Lou says that her niece takes after her in the research department, and will put me and you together. I asked if this was a security breach, and Lou wasn't sure. She says it depends on what the police find and what's made public." He glanced down. "I just wanted to let you know, that's all."

"Okay, son. Thanks for telling me," Jeff said, putting a hand on Gordon's shoulder. "We'll deal with it as it comes, I guess. Speaking of Lou, have you seen her? I know she wanted to get in some target practice."

"Yeah, Dad. She practiced for about forty-five minutes or so and headed back to the Round House. I saw her go by."

"Thanks, Gordon." Jeff grinned at his son. "I'll see if she's still there. Talk to you at dinner, son."

Gordon nodded and returned the smile. "Right, Dad. See you then."

xxxx

Alan glanced at Tin-Tin, and took a deep breath. He raised his hand and gently rapped on the door to his grandmother's suite.

"Come in!" came a sing-song voice from within.

The door opened and the couple stepped inside. Eleanor was sitting by her sewing machine again, monitoring it as the computer attached the sleeve she had previously done to the body of the jacket. She glanced up and smiled at the pair, taking note of the joined hands and the bashful look on her grandson's handsome face.

"So, my dears. You're finally engaged. It's about time, isn't it?"

"Aw, Grandma! How did you guess?" Alan frowned. "And why do people keep saying that?"

xxxx

Rachel sat back, a satisfied smile on her face. "Well, now, Mr. Gordon Cooper Tracy," she murmured. "Let's see what I've discovered about you. You're an Olympic gold medalist, you enlisted in the Submarine Service and World Aquanaut Security Patrol, survived a terrible hydrofoil accident... and you are son to one of the richest men on the planet, who just happens to be a good friend of my aunt!"

She stared at the results of her research. "But none of this explains just why you gave me a fake name, nor why you were involved in the rescue of my mother and aunt. There's a piece to the puzzle missing, and I intend to find it."

Yawning, she glanced at her clock. "Not tonight, though. I have an early morning and it's time I hit the hay."

She saved her file, turned off her computer, got up and stretched. Padding into the bathroom, she performed her nightly routine, then turned off the light and snuggled down between the covers. Lacing her fingers behind her head, she thought about the grinning face in the textbook picture and wondered if she'd ever see it, and him, again in real life.

xxxx

Taping and broadcast had gone well, and the switchboard was already buzzing with a mixture of calls, either praising him for exposing the evening's "menace to society", or cursing him as born of the devil and headed for hell. The website forums were busy, too, either vindicating or vilifying both him and his story. Kerr didn't care either way, as long as he got ratings.

As he washed his face clear of his makeup, he thought about the story he was planning. _Can I get enough dirt on International Rescue? _he wondered. _There's got to be more out there, but where do I find it?_

He strode up to his office, smiling at the crew members who greeted him. His personal assistant, Suzanne, caught up with him, carrying a data pad.

"Eddie?" she said, falling into step with him. "The story on the Chinese orphanages is set for the day after tomorrow, and the Chinese ambassador wants on-air time for a rebuttal."

He waved a hand. "No way. We'll have trouble bringing the story in on time as it is. And I want to use every one of those three interviews."

"Okay." Suzanne checked off something on her data pad. "The story on the revitalization of Bangkok is ready. It's fluff, but you need some fluff now and then."

"Right," Kerr said as he entered his office, holding the door open for Suzanne. "Can't be 'the devil incarnate' all the time."

Suzanne made a face. "You got a call from someone in Portland, Maine, and one from some high up muckity-muck in Russia." She looked at him intently. "Are you working on a new story? I haven't seen it come to the assignment desk."

"And you won't," he told her, pointing a finger at her. "This one I'm handling myself."

"Must be big stuff, then," she replied. "Aren't you going to tell me what it's all about so I can schedule it?"

He shook his head, smiling at her. "Nope. But when I break it, whatever else we've scheduled goes on hold."

"That big?" she asked, skeptical.

He nodded. "That big."

"Well, just don't keep the legal department in the dark, huh? They'll want to be ready for any fallout."

"There won't be any," he said smugly. "Now, if you'll give me those numbers, I'm going to take my computer and go home. It's been a long day."

"Okay, Eddie. I've downloaded them to your PDA. See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, Suz."

His assistant left, and Eddie stretched with an audible groan. He closed his computer up, and slipped it into its carrying case, then he dialed security.

"Thom? I'm ready to leave. Have Bruce bring the car around."

He shrugged into his leather sports coat, and slung his case, with his computer and PDA both inside, over his shoulder. As he opened the door to his office, an armed and uniformed security guard met him, and together they went down in the executive elevator to the basement, where Kerr's limo awaited.

Once ensconced inside, Kerr pulled out his PDA and read off the numbers of the people who had called. _Hmm. Janice Kaplan of the Portland police department. Probably wants to know about that email I sent, telling them that I knew about the connection between the one bullet and International Rescue. Sorry, doll, but I can't tell you. Have to protect my sources._

He scrolled down to the other number. _Now this is interesting. The retired senator to the World Government from Russia. Wonder what he's got to say? _He looked at his watch. _Too late to call Portland now, but I can call Moscow after I have a late snack._

Putting his PDA away, Kerr settled back in his seat. _If I can pull this off, I'll have the scoop of the century: the darker side of International Rescue._


	12. So, have you set a date?

_Author's Note:_ John gets an email. Reactions on Alan and Tin-Tin from the rest of the family. A celebration. Alvarez plots some more. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

Now for those who reviewed the current chapters _of Overtures_:

**Emerald Queen: **Yes, the world would be a worse place without IR, but some people don't much care, and Kerr seems to be one of them. Thanks for the good words on Jeff's reaction; it was fun to write. As far as how far he and Lou will go, stay tuned. Gordon is showing some interest in Rachel, but he's got to talk to her himself, doesn't he? I'd say that once he does, he'll be the one in trouble!

**JamesTKent:** Thank you so much for your thoughtful reviews of _Serendipity_ and _Masquerade_. Sorry about the "Tracius Interruptus" but this story is a WIP. Your serial teasers made me laugh, especially since I'm doing something of the sort with my other, movie-verse WIP. There are a lot of storylines here and I hope to resolve most of them before this ends. At least, that's my goal!

**Math Girl:** LOL about the wedding, especially if Gordon manages to snag that "best man" position. More on Rachel soon, and Eddie as well.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

The constant murmur of thousands of voices was a sound that John was very familiar with, so much so that he could tune it out without much thought. It was only when he heard the words that amounted to "emergency", "rescue", or of course, "International Rescue", in any number of languages that he would turn his head and listen, trying to follow the thread of the message as it wove in and out of the tangled knot of sound. It was only then that he would let his fingers dance across the computer keys, trying to pull that thread into the clear so it could be translated, understood, and if necessary, acted upon. 

Right now was one of those quiet times, one of those times when John had tuned out the rest of the planet and focused on something other than his work. He smiled as he reread the email from Brigitte, the third such missive in twenty-four hours.

_...We ate Raoul's dessert, and despite being very messy, it was still tasty. He has been asked to make it again, but was told that next time, he must be sure to put it in the cryofridge where it can't fall out..._

John had learned a good deal about the lady he was interested in. When she was on duty, she lived at the station house where there were separate quarters for the men and the women. She was one of seven women at her station, three of whom normally worked with her and the other three of whom were on a different rotation. The firefighters had schedules for doing the specific chores around the station, jobs ranging from domestic things, like cooking and doing dishes, to more work related tasks, such as cleaning the trucks, emptying and folding the hoses, and refilling air tanks. Each firefighter was responsible for his or her own personal kit, which surprised John in its complexity.

_...Luckily, we don't have to do much in the way of fighting fires outside the city. Being a tropical island means we normally have enough rain (or too much if we should get a tropical storm!) to keep wildfires to a minimum. Still, we undergo training each year on how best to deal with such, along with our regular refresher courses on first aid and CPR, and our practice sessions at the training grounds..._

John sat back in his chair and stroked his chin. _How often do we just go in with the Firefly or Fire Tender and rely on our machinery to do the work? _he thought. _When was the last time we had any practice or training in firefighting? I can't recall. It's something I should bring up to Dad. I'll email him about it._

He went back to his reading.

_... Ernst came by the station yesterday with his youngest son. He is still on crutches, but his skin looks much better. He expects to be back on duty within two weeks. He was lucky; one of the men from Ladder Company Four was not. I went to the funeral in full dress uniform and was reminded of Peter. Can you tell me how his widow is doing? I occasionally go by their house (Renée gave me their address) and no one is home..._

He sighed. "I'll have to ask Scott how Melissa's doing. Sometimes I wish I could just call home and chat, but with this tightening up of security, I feel like I can't. It's not the same to call home to 'the Commander', as it is to call 'Father'," he murmured.

As if on cue, a strident beeping caught John's attention. "Hmm. Speak of the devil." He closed Brigitte's email and rolled his chair over to the communications panel that put him in contact with Tracy Island.

"Thunderbird Five from base. Come in, Thunderbird Five," Jeff's deep voice intoned.

John pressed a couple of switches, and he was suddenly confronted with his father's smiling face.

"Thunderbird Five here. Go ahead, base."

"It's good to see you, Epsilon," Jeff said, smiling even more as he saw his son looking healthy and alert. "Sigma and Theta have something to tell you."

Jeff moved out of the way, then Alan and Tin-Tin took his place. John noticed that they were holding hands. His eyes widened as his logical mind sifted quickly through the possible meanings of that particular intimacy, and settled on the one most likely scenario.

"Uh, Epsilon?" Alan began, grinning from ear to ear. "We're calling to tell you that, well, Ti... I mean, Theta and I..."

"No, no! Don't tell me!" John interrupted Alan's speech, putting up a hand. "Let me guess." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "You've decided to buy your alligator a mate."

Alan rolled his eyes and Tin-Tin, with a wide smile on her face, shook her head.

"Not that. Okay," John said, stifling the urge to grin as he kept up the act. "I know! You're both coming up to get me!"

Tin-Tin smiled regretfully. "No, not yet," she said. "But soon."

"Well, then!" John stopped trying to suppress his smile. "You must have gotten engaged or something."

"Finally!" Alan muttered, shaking his head.

Tin-Tin giggled, putting a hand in front of her mouth. Then she leaned forward a bit to say, "You're right, and you knew it all along!"

"Yes, I deduced it. And may I say, it's about time you two got around to this!" John's grin widened as he saw Alan's exasperated reaction. "It's been a long time coming, but still, it seems rather sudden. What made you ask her now, Sigma?"

"He didn't ask _me_," Tin-Tin said, giving Alan a nudge to the ribs. "I asked _him_ and he accepted."

John laughed out loud. "Oh, that's great, Theta, just priceless!" he crowed. "I always knew you were the go-get-him type!" He turned to meet Alan's eyes, a mischievous twinkle in his own. "And I'm glad you finally succumbed to her charms and accepted her proposal. Congratulations to you both!"

"Thanks a lot, Epsilon!" Alan said, his tone sincere. "I'm rather glad I said 'yes', myself."

"If you hadn't, and, uh... oh yeah... if you hadn't and GM had heard of it, you would have been in deep hairy trouble," the space monitor said, pointing at Alan. "So, have you set a date?"

"No, we haven't. The ring is next on the list of things to do," Tin-Tin replied, smiling up at Alan fondly.

"Speaking of that, do you think you could give me a few more days here?" Alan asked. "I've got to take a certain car's back seat to England to be re-upholstered in a couple of days. While we're there, we'll probably shop for the rings, or ring, whichever."

"For such a noble cause, I wilt grant thee a few more days," John replied in his best theatrical voice. "Just don't be too long about it, okay?"

"We'll try not to be," Tin-Tin promised. "Thank you, Epsilon."

"Yeah, thanks again," Alan added. "We need to go tell a couple more people the good news, so we'll talk to you later."

"Later, you two. Hey, is Alpha there? I need to talk to him," John said, reminded of Brigitte's question.

"He's not here right now, but I can get him for you," Jeff said, stepping back up to his son's picture, as Alan and Tin-Tin moved away.

Lou walked across to Jeff's desk in the background, glanced over at John, and waved, calling out a cheerful, "Hi!"

"Hey!" John responded, adding a little wave of his own. He turned his attention back to his father. "That'd be great, Commander."

Jeff went back to his desk and paged Scott, then returned to John. "Is everything going smoothly up there? Anything specific to report?"

John reached across to pull his data pad. "Mt. Rainier's threatening to blow its top again, but the vulcanologists have known about this for weeks and from what I've heard, the evacuation of the park and any surrounding 'at risk' communities is almost complete. A family is lost at the Lake Manyera National Park in Tanzania; the park rangers have resumed the search for them now that it's daylight there."

"I'm surprised they didn't call us in on that one," Jeff said with a frown.

"I am, too," John said ruefully. "We could have used the thermal imaging to look for them in the darkness." He glanced at his data pad again. "The computers have just uploaded this: the experimental sea colony off the coast of New Zealand is having trouble with their power supply... say, isn't that where Omicron spent a year?"

"Yes, it is," Jeff said thoughtfully, rubbing his slightly stubbled chin. He glanced over at Gordon's picture, then back at John. "What's the status there?"

"WASP has been called and is responding," the space monitor replied. "I'll keep a sharp eye on this one. They may need us, too."

"F-A-B." Jeff looked away. "Here's Alpha now. I'll talk to you later, Epsilon."

"F-A-B, Commander," John said crisply. He paused, then called, "Oh, Commander?"

Jeff turned back. "Yes, Epsilon?"

"You can expect an email from me within the next day on a situation I've been made aware of recently. It has to do with training."

His father nodded slowly. "I'll look for it."

John smiled. "F-A-B. Thunderbird Five on standby."

Scott came into view, and Jeff put a hand on his shoulder before returning to his desk.

"What's up, Epsilon?" Scott asked, breathless. He glanced back at his father, who was talking quietly to Lou. "It sounded urgent..."

John looked rather sheepish. "Not really urgent, but... I wanted to know how Agent 53's family was doing. Agent 87 asked specifically about them."

Scott ran a hand through his hair as he blew out a frustrated breath. "Oh, man. What a mess! It'd be better if I emailed you with all the gory details, okay? Then you can pass on what you think is pertinent to your friend."

"F-A-B," John said with an understanding nod. "I'll look for the email. I take it you've heard about Alan?"

"Yeah. I was the first to know," the older brother said smugly. "I'll tell you all about that, too. It'll be great ammunition to embarrass both of them in future days."

"Ah, then I'm really looking forward to the email." John's eyes flicked over Scott's shoulder at their father, who was looking his way and pointing at his watch, then came back to Scott. "Hey, looks like it's about time for dinner. I'd better sign off. Take care, okay?"

"F-A-B," Scott said, glancing over his shoulder at Jeff. "You stay safe up there, too, y'hear?"

"F-A-B." John reached out and put his fingers on a switch. He said, "Thunderbird Five, signing off," then flipped the switch and cut the communication.

He sat back and sighed contentedly. "So, Tin-Tin finally woke my little brother up," he murmured, shaking his head and smiling. "I'm glad he didn't go all heroic and asinine on her and stepped up to the plate. I wonder if I can finagle my way into being best man?"

With that thought, he got up and headed for the space station's little galley. "John, my boy, this calls for a celebration. Let's go see what the cryofreezer has to offer."

xxxx

The newly engaged couple found Virgil and Gordon in the games room, shooting pool.

"Uh, guys?" Alan called hesitantly.

"Hey, Alan," Gordon said, glancing quickly over his shoulder as he prepared to make a shot.

"Hi, Alan, Tin-Tin," Virgil said from across the table where he was leaning on his cue. "What's up?"

"Well, uh, Tin-Tin and I have an announcement to make," Alan began.

Gordon made his shot, and missed, then glared up at Virgil. "Next time you're trying to make a difficult shot, I'm going to have a chat with someone."

Virgil snorted, then surveyed the table, while Gordon straightened up and turned to his younger brother. "So?" he said. "What's the announcement?"

"They're engaged," Virgil muttered as he lined up his shot. He led the cue slide through his fingers, hitting the white ball and sending it rolling unerringly toward the nine ball. "Ah!" he sighed, satisfied, as the nine ball dropped into the corner pocket.

Alan glanced over at Tin-Tin, who shrugged, palms held upwards. "How did you know?" he asked.

"Know what?" Virgil responded distractedly as he lined up his cue with his next target. Gordon glanced from brother to brother as the conversation went back and forth.

"That we're engaged," Tin-Tin explained, a touch of exasperation in her tone.

"Really? You're engaged?" Virgil's head came up sharply a split second before the end of his cue hit the white ball. The sudden motion spoiled his shot, but at that point, he could care less. "I was just joking!"

"Engaged? As in, getting married engaged?" Gordon asked, his eyes widening in shock.

Alan sighed audibly. "Yes, as in getting married, Gordon."

"Oh yes, God, yes!" Gordon shouted, pumping his fists in the air, dropping to his knees dramatically while lifting his face to the ceiling and letting his cue drop clattering to the floor. He bowed to the floor with a moan, then quickly got up, grinning at the couple. "It's about damn time!"

"Yes, it is!" Virgil exclaimed, coming around the table to embrace first Alan, then Tin-Tin. "I can't believe you finally asked her!"

"I didn't," Alan croaked out, his air supply shoved from his lungs by an overly enthusiastic bear hug from Gordon.

"I asked him," Tin-Tin explained as Gordon let go of his younger brother and gently hugged her, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"I gather you did the only right and proper thing and said 'yes'," Gordon remarked smartly, turning back to Alan. "None of this 'my life is too dangerous' crap!"

"We're here announcing the engagement, aren't we?" Alan retorted. His voice mellowed as he put an arm around Tin-Tin and gazed at her with a soft smile. "I'd have been a fool to say 'no'. And I've been a fool, pushing her away all this time."

"Damn right you have," Virgil chimed in, nodding. "So, what's next? Have you set a date? Can I be your best man?"

Gordon frowned. "Hey! That's my job! I'm his closest brother!"

"Oh, God, no. Not already," Alan moaned softly to the woman beside him. "I knew this would come up. Four brothers and they'll all want to be the best man."

"You'll work that out in due time, Alan," Tin-Tin said firmly, almost literally stepping in to stop the argument before it started. She took his hand and started for the door. "Now, if you both will excuse us, we still have two more people on the island to tell."

"Oh? Who hasn't heard yet?" Virgil asked, curious.

"Kenny," Alan replied. He fidgeted a little, then said in a serious tone, "And Brains."

"Good luck with Brains," Gordon said fervently. He smiled, then pulled Alan into another hug. "Congratulations, little bro, Tin-Tin." He gave her another squeeze, too. "I'm happy for you both."

"Same here," Virgil echoed, clapping Alan on the shoulder, then leaning down to kiss Tin-Tin on the cheek. "Couldn't have happened to a nicer couple."

"Thank you, Virgil and Gordon," Tin-Tin responded. She tightened her grip on Alan's hand and moved toward the door once more

"Yeah, thanks guys," Alan echoed as his new fiancée pulled him from the room. "See you at dinner!"

The two older men watched them go, then Gordon bent down to retrieve his pool cue. He glanced over at Virgil. "I can't believe it. One of us is finally tying the knot."

Virgil shook his head. "You knew it would come sooner or later. I just didn't think Alan would be first, not with his stubborn insistence about the job being too dangerous." He returned to the pool table. "Not to say that it isn't, but we can't let it get in the way of relationships."

"Hmm," Gordon said, a sound of agreement. He began to walk around the table, looking for his next shot. He saw an opportunity that he liked, and crouched down to put his eyes at tabletop level, squinting slightly to examine it more closely. Standing, he applied blue chalk to the tip of his cue, and leaned over the edge, creating a support for his stick with his fingers. Taking a breath, he let it out slowly as he tapped the cue ball gently and sent it on its way. It hit the three ball with just enough force and at the proper angle to drop it into the side pocket.

"So, who do you think will be next?" he asked conversationally as he stalked around the table again, looking for his next move.

Virgil sighed, causing Gordon to glance over at him quizzically. The older man shrugged. "Probably John, if things go the way he seems to want them to go with his pretty firefighter." He met Gordon's gaze, and his eyebrow went up. "That is, unless you've been holding out on us and have a girl on a string somewhere."

The younger man smiled mischievously as he lined up his next shot. "Well, I did meet someone in Maine..." He slid the cue between his fingers with calculated force and dropped the fifteen ball in the corner pocket. "She's a possibility... if she's lucky."

"Who?" Virgil demanded to know, following Gordon around the table. "Who is she?"

Gordon smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't you like to know."

xxxx

Alan and Tin-Tin made their way down to the lab in one of the monorail cars. "We don't have much time before dinner," he said, tapping a foot nervously.

"True," she agreed. "But I'd rather he... they heard it from us instead of being ambushed by the news at the table."

They were silent for a moment, then Alan asked, "How do you want to handle it?"

"Brains, first, I think," Tin-Tin said thoughtfully. "I would prefer that he was not the last to know."

"He won't be, if you count Penelope," Alan reminded her.

"True, but the last one on the island," she said. She twisted her fingers together. "I don't know how he will take it. He's always been so... hopeful."

Alan nodded. He knew that Brains was sweet on Tin-Tin and had been for a long time. He didn't understand why the engineer hadn't spoken up or made a move on the girl. _Right now, I'm damned glad he didn't. _Glancing over at his companion, he smiled. _Maybe she made it clear that I was the one she wanted, or maybe he thought there was some problem with dating his assistant. I don't know, but whatever his reasoning, I'm glad he let Tin-Tin make her own decision. And I wish to God I hadn't been such a blind ass these past three years._

He brought the monorail car to a stop outside the lab complex, and opened the door. Stepping out, he offered his hand to Tin-Tin, who took it and did not let go. They glanced at each other as they came to the double doors of what was Brains's and Tin-Tin's domain. Putting her hand up to the scanner beside the door, she waited until the red light turned green. Then she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and opened the lab door.

Inside, Brains looked up from his drafting computer. He had heard the chime warning him that someone wanted admission, and had pressed a button on his telecomm watch to indicate that it was safe to enter. Sometimes, when he was working on something particularly volatile, he would leave the door locked and the light would stay red. Then, only someone with an override code, like Jeff or Tin-Tin, could open the door. Other times, he'd press another button, and the light outside would glow yellow, which meant "enter at your own risk".

"Hello, A-Alan, Tin-Tin," he said as they came in together. He saved the file he was working on. "What can I, uh, d-do for you?"

"Hey, Brains," Alan said cordially as they approached the engineer. He glanced at Tin-Tin again, and Brains noticed, for the first time, that they were holding hands.

Tin-Tin had been thinking briefly of ways to break the news gently, but decided that the quicker the cut, the less pain it would bring. "Brains," she said softly, "Alan and I are engaged. I asked him to marry me, and he accepted my proposal."

The scientist looked from one face to the other, trying hard to keep his own expression carefully neutral. He had entertained hope from time to time that Tin-Tin would finally put her deep affection for Alan to rest and would see how much _he _loved her, how much _he_ wanted her. But it was a false hope, and deep in his heart, Brains had always known it. Their relationship was doomed to be an affectionate friendship, and now he had the hard proof of that fact.

"C-Congratulations. I h-hope you'll b-both be v-very happy together," he said, holding out his hand to Alan. Alan glanced at it, took it, and used it to pull Brains into a solid embrace.

"Thanks, Brains," Alan said fervently in the scientist's ear. "That means a lot, coming from you."

The youngest Tracy let him go, and Tin-Tin stepped up to gently embrace him, kissing him on the cheek, then stepping back with her hands on his upper arms. "Thank you, Brains, for being such a good and patient friend. And especially for understanding why I made this decision. I do love you, you know, just not the same way I love Alan."

Brains nodded, his heart too full of love and grief and anger to say anything coherent, let alone positive. Tin-Tin kissed him again, then turned to Alan, who reached out to take her hand.

"Kenny doesn't know yet either, so we're going to go down to the repair bay and tell him," Alan explained. "See you at dinner?"

Brains nodded. He was tempted to skip dinner altogether, or have a tray brought to him at the lab, but he knew it would look odd if he was not there for the celebration that dinner would most assuredly be. As the couple headed for the stairs that led down to the pod repair bay, he turned back to his computer and sat before it, his hand splayed over his forehead for support as he tried to regain his focus.

"Hey, Kenny!" Alan called as the couple all but skipped down the stairs. "Where are you?"

"In here!" came a muffled voice. Kenny levered himself up from the floor of FAB-1 with a groan, pushing on the front seat and backing out of the car. "There was a short in the wiring to the right power door," he explained as he wiped his hands on a rag. "I think I've fixed it though."

"Good, good!" Alan said with a grin. "I'm sorry I wasn't more help today, but I did have to prep Thunderbird Three for any new emergency."

Kenny shrugged. "I understand. First things first." He cocked his head and his eyes narrowed as he noticed the way the couple stood so close together. "You two are pretty chummy all of a sudden," he remarked. "Is there something I should know?"

"Well, yeah," Alan admitted, nodding. "While I was working on Thunderbird Three, Tin-Tin came to bring me lunch."

"She brought me lunch, too," Kenny said. He turned to Tin-Tin. "If I didn't say it at the time, thanks for bringing it. I really appreciated it."

"You did manage to mutter a 'thank you'," Tin-Tin said, her tone teasing. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"I did." The mechanic's eyes flicked from one person to the other. "Now, what's going on here? I can tell something's up and I want to know what it is."

"Well," Alan began, "when Tin-Tin brought me the lunch, we had a very serious talk and she asked me a very important question."

"Which was?" Kenny asked, folding his arms.

"Would I marry her."

Kenny's eyebrows went up, and he asked, "And you said?"

Alan grinned and punched his friend lightly in the arm. "What do you think I said? Yes, of course!"

" 'Of course', he says." Kenny glanced at Tin-Tin, who was rolling her eyes. "I will never understand you, Tracy," he said, tipping the girl a wink and shaking his head. "You could have been happily married like me a long time ago if you'd opened your mouth and said something instead of waiting for her to ask."

"Hey! Look who's talking!" Alan remonstrated. He reached out to smack Kenny's arm again. "I seem to remember that Beth almost had to put you in a half-nelson before she could pop the question!"

"I guess that makes us a pair of idiots, doesn't it?" Kenny said with a grin. "But seriously, Alan and Tin-Tin, I wish you both the very best! Congratulations!"

Kenny shook Alan's hand then they embraced, thumping each other on the back. "Thanks, Ken! I'm so glad I could tell you face-to-face."

"I want to say thank you, too, Kenny," Tin-Tin murmured as she hugged him briefly. "Thank you for your good wishes and for keeping this one safe when he races."

"You're welcome, Tin-Tin. I do my best," Kenny replied.

Alan looked at his watch. "I think we'd better head upstairs. We're already fashionably late for dinner."

"Yeah, and I'm starved!" Kenny exclaimed, heading for the stairs to the lab. He glanced back at the couple who followed him. "I hope you don't get embarrassed easily because I intend on making some toasts tonight."

"I think a lot of people will be making toasts tonight," Alan said with a wry chuckle. He put an arm behind Tin-Tin, resting his hand on her lower back as they went back up to the lab and beyond.

xxxx

Dinner was, as promised, worthy of a celebration. The food was excellent, the wine noteworthy, the conversation witty, and the laughter hearty and genuine. Each of the brothers around the table toasted Alan and Tin-Tin at least once, while Kenny saluted his friend several times. Even Eleanor had something pithy to say in tribute to her youngest grandson and his bride-to-be. Brains smiled and raised his glass at each occasion, as did Lou, who felt out of place for once among the tight-knit group. The engaged couple laughed, and Tin-Tin blushed, at some of the pledges made, until finally, just before dessert was served, Jeff and Kyrano stood together with glasses in hand.

Kyrano cleared his throat, and began. "Alan, Tin-Tin, Jefferson and I have watched you two over the past three years. We often wondered if you would ever make up your minds and finally do something about the attraction we saw between you."

"So it is with great relief that we, your fathers, see you come to this decision at long last," Jeff said, smiling. He raised his glass. "I am sure you've heard this sentiment quite a bit today; this _will_ be the last time you will hear it from your kin. To Tin-Tin and Alan: may you have a long life together and, may we say, it's about time!"

Everyone around the table had raised their glasses when the fathers had, and now echoed their final sentiments amid general laughter, "It's about time!"

xxxx

The diners lingered after the final toast, swapping stories of "remember when". Lou sat and listened for a bit, placing some of the episodes within the framework of her own relationship with Lucille and the stories her friend had told her about the family, and occasionally interjecting a tidbit of trivia about the boys' mother that they found interesting. But at last she wearied of it.

She drained her coffee cup, and stood. "If you will excuse me," she said. "I have four furry demons who are waiting for their own dinners. Alan and Tin-Tin, again: congratulations! Good evening, everyone."

There were murmured responses from the other folk as Lou pushed her chair back in and headed for the hallway that would access the patio beneath the wide balcony. Jeff nodded to his sons, put his napkin beside his plate, and went after her.

"Lou?" he called as caught up with her in the hallway.

She stopped and turned, smiling. "Yes, Jeff?"

"Uh, could I interest you in some stargazing from the beach a little later this evening?" he asked. "The sky is really clear and it's a great night for seeing the constellations in this hemisphere."

She cocked her head at him and her smiled widened. "Why, Jeff," she said teasingly. "That's a lovely idea. A blanket on the beach, just the two of us... how much stargazing do you think we'd actually accomplish?"

Jeff chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm serious about the stargazing, Lou, really. And I'd like to spend some time with you away from the crowd. It's been a full day and it seems fitting to end it on a high note."

"All right then, Mr. Tracy," she replied coyly. "Shall we say, ten o'clock?"

"Make it ten-thirty," Jeff said, looking at his watch. "I have to arrange a few matters before then."

"Ten-thirty it is. Should I meet you on the beach?"

"No, no. I'll come by the Round House." He glanced over his shoulder at the fresh sounds of laughter from the dining room. "Bring a sweater; the beach can get cool at night."

"I'll be waiting," Lou said. She glanced toward the door leading outside. "I really should go."

"Ten-thirty," Jeff reminded her as he turned back toward the dining room.

"Right," she replied.

He disappeared back into the room, and she sighed, a sound made up of equal parts contentment and frustration. Then she turned and left the villa.

xxxx

The sudden touch jarred Alvarez awake. He glanced at the clock, the numbers three-three-zero glowing brightly blue against the black face. Rolling over, he found his evening's paramour, the secretary, lying on her side, an arm flung carelessly over him. He brushed her off, and sat up, swinging his bare legs over the side of the huge bed.

He stood, and walked over to the dresser, reaching into the small humidor that sat atop its surface. There were thin Cuban cigars inside and, fingers fumbling a bit in the dark, he removed one, rubbing it between his palms before feeling around for his cigar snipper and his lighter. Within a few moments, the aroma of fine tobacco wafted on the air of his bedchamber.

Looking back at the bed and the figure outlined there by the muted light of an outside street lamp, he contemplated the evening's activities. The sexual part of the night was nothing to him but a momentary release; what really mattered was the time he had spent putting her under the spell of his hypnotic abilities. She was not an easy one to work with; her military training must have prepared her for a variety of interrogation techniques. But in the end, his powers proved adequate for the task.

_She will remember a wild night of passion and be convinced that I am deeply attracted to her, but she will not tell anyone who her lover is. And as we spend more time together, I will program her more deeply with the part she is to play. _He flicked his ashes into a heavy obsidian bowl made for the purpose. _But I must be discreet; only Fernando must know that I am "romancing" this woman, and even he must not know my ultimate goal. The downfall of International Rescue and acquisition of its secrets are secondary to this, but I must continue my activities on that front as well._

The secretary rolled over with a small moan and the sheet pulled away to bare her from shoulder to waist. Alvarez felt his body react to the sight of her curves, outlined in the subdued light that streamed in through the window sheers. He puffed on the cigar one last time, crushed it in the bowl, and went back to the bed, pulling the covers from her fully. She stirred, and he moved in with rough, passionate kisses. He felt nothing for her, but his own hunger needed assuaging, and she would do that very well.


	13. But seriously, Jeff

_Author's Note:_ Jeff and Lou fluff! Scott writes his brother, and Eddie Kerr asks for help. The story recounted by Kerr is "The Trapped Spy" from _Thunderbirds: The Comic_, issue 4, November 30-December 13, 1991; issue 5, December 14-27; and issue 6, December 28, 1991-January 10, 1992. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

Now for those who reviewed the current chapters _of Overtures_:

**JamesTKent:** Thank you for the compliments. It's possible that there might be one more "It's about time" when Penelope finds out, then again, she might find such a comment crass! I'm sure she'll be able to guide the lovers to an appropriate jeweler.

**Emerald Queen: **I'm sure that Brains will get over it eventually, though it may sting for a while. I loved writing Virgil's little muttered guess; it sort of just came to me. As far as what Jeff will do, read on.

**ArtisticRainey: **Thanks so much for the wonderful compliments! I like Alan and Tin-Tin together; they seem to be made for each other. Since they're the one, true canon pairing, it seems fitting for them to get together like this first. And you're not the only one who wants a wedding, and maybe two!

**Math Girl:** Oh, my! Double weddings! It seems to be a theme here! Gordon and Rachel will have to actually get together soon here, won't they? Yes, Alvarez is a creep and is not above using people. But then, the best villains are the ones that make our skin crawl.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

At ten-thirty sharp, Jeff walked into the Round House's common room. He found Lou waiting for him, dressed in jeans, a striped baseball style shirt, and white sneakers. She had the arms of a light sweater tied loosely around her neck. Jeff himself was wearing khaki walking shorts, an open necked white polo shirt, and a pair of fisherman's sandals. She looked him up and down, focusing on the difference in tone between his forearms and his calves. 

"Don't get out in the sun much, do you?" she quipped.

He followed her eyes downwards and smiled. "No, it's not that. It's just that I don't get out and about in shorts much. Though, theoretically, it wouldn't matter what I wore from the waist down during a vidconference, I feel better about conducting business with my 'work clothes' on."

"Ah, I see," she responded. "What's in the basket?"

"Goodies," Jeff replied with a grin, hefting the picnic basket he held. "You do like goodies, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, I do, but you just don't fit the description of the usual purveyor of goodies. You know, young girl, red hood," she riposted, an eyebrow going up and the corner of one side of her mouth rising with it.

"Hmm. Maybe I'm a wolf then," he returned. "Wolves like goodies, too."

She laughed, and Jeff continued, "You might want to grab a blanket from here for us to sit on. Sand doesn't stay warm all night."

"All right. I'll get one." Lou sauntered down the hall and Jeff found his eyes drawn to her derriere as she walked. He drew in a deep breath and swallowed, realizing that he was enjoying her feminine curves and doing it without embarrassment. It was a welcome feeling.

She returned a few moments later, a folded blanket draped over one arm. "I hope this will do."

"It will," he replied. "Shall we go? I'd offer you my arm, but there's a camping lantern on the porch that I'll need to carry so we'll have light for the walk."

"That's okay. As much as I appreciate your chivalrous spirit, I'd rather see where we're going."

They left the Round House, and took the dark, sandy path down to the beach, making small talk about her cats on the way down. "Spot moved into one of the litter boxes after I cleaned and changed it today," Lou told him, knowing that the skinny tortoiseshell was his favorite. "She's not _doing_ anything in there, just lying down like a little sphinx on top of the clean litter. I'd almost rather have her in the bathroom."

"All your cats are crazy, and Spot doubly so," Jeff replied, shaking his head and chuckling.

"That's the nature of the little beasts, Jeff. They're crazy, they drive me crazy, and I love them just the same."

"Sounds like a bunch of kids to me."

"And that's exactly what they are."

They reached the soft sand of the beach, moving down toward the shoreline to walk on the firmer surface just out of reach of the waves. They walked until the villa and the airstrip were swallowed up in the star lit darkness, then moved back up onto the softer stuff. Jeff put down the lantern, and Lou spread the blanket out on the sand. She immediately kicked off her sneakers, and sat down to pull off her socks. He placed the picnic hamper on the blanket with the lantern next to it, took off his sandals one at a time, lining them up neatly beside the basket, before sitting down.

"So, what kinds of goodies did you bring?" she asked, getting on her knees to peer over his shoulder as he opened the basket.

"Don't know yet. Kyrano packed this for us," he replied. He used the lantern as he rummaged around in the basket, glancing over his shoulder once as if to wordlessly say to Lou, "Do you mind?" She backed off, and he pulled out a bottle of wine, two glasses, an airtight container full of small, white cheese wedges, another with a variety of gourmet crackers and melba toast, and a bowl of fresh, imported strawberries, each fruit dipped in dark chocolate. There were small plates, forks, and linen napkins for each of them.

Jeff smiled. "Kyrano thinks of everything."

"He certainly does, except maybe my girlish figure." Lou picked up a strawberry and bit off about half of it. "Oooh, alcohol _and_ sugar," she commented playfully as she finished the rest of the fruit. "Don't know if I'm going to be mellow or hyper at the end of the evening."

"Mellow, I hope," Jeff said as he handed her both glasses. He skillfully opened the wine bottle and poured some into each glass as Lou held the stemware. Then he carefully propped the bottle in the hamper and took the glass she handed him.

"Do this much?" she asked, smiling. "Pouring out under less than favorable lighting conditions, that is."

"Sometimes, when Lucy was alive. Dinner by candlelight or by the fireplace and all that," he replied. He sipped the wine so he could avoid the sigh he knew he'd make.

They sat quietly for a while, helping themselves to an occasional bite of cheese and cracker, or a strawberry, making small talk about the food. At last, Lou set her glass aside, burying its base firmly in the sand, and leaned back on her elbows to look up at the night sky.

"Wow!" she exclaimed in a near-whisper. "The stars--the sky's so clear you can see thousands of them."

"No light pollution, at least, not until the moon rises," Jeff said as he turned off the lantern. He turned onto his side so he was facing her, leaning on one elbow, propping his head on one hand, and holding his still half-filled wine glass in the other hand. "It's one of the benefits of living here."

"I wish I knew the constellations," she said quietly, lowering herself to the blanket so she could see the sky more comfortably. "I might be able to pick out the Southern Cross, but that's about it."

"Well, that's why we're here, isn't it?" he replied with a grin. He drained his glass, put it aside, and lay back on the blanket. "John's much better with this kind of thing than I am, but I can point out a few constellations for you, and tell you the stories behind them." He moved closer to her and pointed at a particular bright spot in the star-filled sky. "Okay. There's the Southern Cross. It's the most easily recognizable constellation in this hemisphere. The really bright star at what would be the base is Acrux, which is a double-star system. Now, on the opposite side of the cross from Acrux is Centaurus. It surrounds the Southern Cross on three sides, and looks something like this..."

For the next hour, they lay side by side, Jeff pointing out constellations and Lou trying to follow his finger as he traced them in the sky. She listened attentively and asked questions as he spun the tales behind the starry formations. Sometimes, if she had trouble envisioning the constellation, they would sit up and he would draw them on the sand for her. Finally his voice began to sound hoarse and he grew thirsty again.

Sitting up, he poured himself another glass of wine, spilling some on the blanket and his own leg as he tried to pour it out in the dark. Once they had sponged up as much as they could with the linen napkins, chuckling all the while over his accident, he offered some to Lou. She accepted, and this time Jeff turned on the lantern again so he could safely decant the wine into her glass and not all over her jeans.

She took a sip, and rolled the glass around in her hands for a moment before sipping again. "So, you said earlier that this had been a full day. I know about the small miracle that happened between Alan and Tin-Tin, and I remember you talking about a vidconference early in the afternoon. What else?"

Jeff sighed. "Well, the first disappointment was that Kenny has resigned. I understand his reasons and sympathize with them, but still, I'll miss him as an agent."

"That's rough," Lou said. "How many agents have you lost so far?"

"Eight. There might be more; I haven't heard from everyone yet." He draped his arm over his raised knee, letting the wine glass dangle in his fingers. "Penelope called and will be here tomorrow. She says she's made a decision about her future with IR."

"I remember you saying something about that at lunch. What do you think her answer will be?"

He shook his head slowly. "I have no idea, but it was heartening that she wanted to come here, especially after the emotional double whammy Virgil and I gave her." Taking another draught of his wine, he smacked his lips and continued. "Then there was the issue of Deirdre Macias and recruiting her. Scott and I talked about his feelings over the incident in the Caribbean, and told me he's been made executor of Peter Riordan's will. That was actually a rather pleasant conversation. I spoke briefly with Kyrano, and he told me something about my mother I hadn't been aware of . Then...," he sighed heavily, "then I went to talk to her."

"Dare I ask what about?" Lou asked softly. She took a sip of her drink, then cocked her head, giving her companion a quizzical look.

"The conversation started out about you, as I'm sure you guessed," Jeff replied, staring out at the mesmerizing sight of the foam edged waves as they came in to crash softly and rhythmically on the beach, one after another after another, their crests just visible in the shimmering starlight. "She's resigned to having you here, but I don't think she'll be happy until you go home."

A final swallow of what was in his glass, and he poured himself another, smaller libation. "Then the conversation turned to her health, which seems to have suffered since her bout with the flu. That's what Kyrano told me, anyway. I had to bully her into agreeing to go to the doctor." He finally turned his gaze to Lou's face. "And we talked about... preparations. For when she's no longer with us. It was hard, but remembering what you told me about your father helped me bring the subject up. It was an emotional conversation, but profitable. I now have some of the information I'll need when the time comes."

"Good," she said with a serious tone, nodding. "That was a lot of talking you did. Was there anyone else?"

"Alan and Tin-Tin, of course," Jeff said, smiling. "That was a high point. Then when I was on my way to give you their news, Gordon collared me about your niece, Rachel." He raised his eyebrows with a suddenly mischievous look. "Have you heard from her about my son?"

"No, not yet, but Gordon told me all about what she was up to," Lou responded with a smile. "Gordon could do worse than Rachel. She's a good kid. She's smart, tenacious, and totally in love with the sea. If she doesn't go into marine biology or another discipline like that, I expect a career in one of the nautical branches of the armed forces."

"He was concerned about a security breach," he stated simply.

"Yes, I know. I'll keep an eye on things there," she assured him.

There was a long moment of quiet between them. The waves continued their syncopated swishing, and a breeze rustled through the palm fronds behind them. Lou untied her sweater and draped it around her shoulders, fastening the top button. Picking up her wine glass once more, she sipped, then tapped Jeff on the knee to get his attention

"How did you find this place, and get hold of it?" she asked, sweeping an arm to indicate the entire island. "Did you run an ad in the paper?" Raising a hand, she put her fingers apart a little and moved them across an area in front of her face. " 'Wanted, one deserted, tropical island for secret base. Serious responses only'." Her hands moved as she continued her monologue. "Did you, maybe, go into Islands-R-Us and ask for the blue light special? Or maybe you found it in an online catalog?" She bounced up and down with excitement. "No! I know! I know! You found it on one of those _shopping channels_!" Her voice dropped in an unconvincing imitation of a televid pitchman. " 'For the man who has everything and needs a place to put it, your very own tropical island! Endless beaches and palm trees for your pleasure, and best of all, it's fully developed, ready for you to move right in!' "

Jeff had started to chuckle with the newspaper ad, then began to guffaw with the "Islands-R-Us" but by the time she got to the shopping channel, he was lying on the blanket, arms around his middle, howling with laughter. Once she had finished, he tried to calm down, sitting up again, wiping tears from his eyes, and sighing noisily before chuckling again. "Oh, Lou! That was a hoot! How long did it take you to come up with that?"

"Two days," she admitted, grinning and snickering along with him. "Though the shopping channel was a last minute inspiration."

"And it _was_ inspired! Oh, God, how I needed that!" He continued chuckling in spurts and starts as he tried to calm down by taking a small swallow from his glass.

"But seriously, Jeff..."

Her statement was cut off by a spray of wine as Jeff chortled again.

"Ugh! Jeff!" she cried in surprise, shaking her head, but unable to stop smiling and laughing with him.

"Oh, Lou! I'm sorry!" he said as he tried to control his mirth over the situation.

"I forgive you. Just hand me one of those napkins, will you?"

He put down his glass and fished out the drier of the two napkins, handing it to her so she could wipe the wine off her arms and face. "Good Lord, I've created a monster," she muttered under her breath, but not so softly that Jeff, in that quiet environment, couldn't hear and he reacted by cracking up again. She kept glancing over at him, raising her eyes and face to the heavens, and shaking her head in disbelief, even as she chuckled at his reaction.

Finally, Jeff got control of himself and brought his laughter down to an occasional hiccup-like chuckle. "If you really want to know how I found this place, well it was the hard way. I was stranded here."

"Stranded? How?" Lou asked, sipping her drink, her voice showing her amazement. For the first time, Jeff noticed how combined starlight and lamplight glinted off the glass in her hand, turning her profile into a silver-and-golden-edged silhouette.

"My plane went down and I had to ditch," he said, his voice finally losing the hitch that had developed from the laughter. "I was stranded here for eleven weeks. Then a submarine came along and pulled me out." He carefully sipped the small amount left in his glass. "Found out it was a training exercise, one to equip me for my trip to the moon." He shook his head. "God only knows why. I mean, if I was stranded on the moon outside like I was here, I wouldn't have lasted eleven weeks. I'd only have lasted as long as my air did." He sighed, his eyes turned up toward the moon, which had risen above the island from behind them. "Even in the lander, I wouldn't have lasted that long alone. The trip wasn't planned for that length of time and even if all my crewmates were dead, there still wouldn't have been enough supplies to sustain me until a rescue mission could be launched."

He turned to Lou, the added moonlight now making her face a little clearer, and outlining her figure. "Lucy said it was the longest eleven weeks of her life. She was pregnant with Virgil, you see, and they actually cut my training short by a week to try and get me home to be with her."

"Did you make it?" Lou asked quietly, enjoying the mellow feeling the wine was giving her, and studying his face, cast in sharp relief by the lunar light above them. His silver hair, disheveled from his laughter, glinted as if with a light of its own.

He shook his head. "Nope. Lucy was home from the hospital by the time I was debriefed and sent on my way."

"So, that explains how you found it. But how did you get possession of it?" she asked.

He tilted his face upward, not looking at anything in particular. "Well, this and several other islands or atolls in the vicinity were owned by the US military. Some of them had been nuclear testing sites roughly a hundred years ago, and still weren't totally fit for human life. Some of them had volcanoes that, though they were dormant, could become active with little notice. This one, even though it had a spring, wasn't considered big enough to support any sizeable population. In the big military restructuring of the early twenty-fifties, the US government decided to let the islands go up on the auction block." He shrugged. "I had made most of my pile by then and put in a bid on this one, mostly for sentimental reasons. Imagine my surprise when I found out that not only was I the highest bidder, but that I had become the owner of _all_ the little islands and atolls in the general vicinity!"

"Hey! Your own little empire!" Lou joked, giving him an amused glance.

He turned his face to her and chuckled briefly. "I suppose you could say that." Looking off to the sea again, his smile faded and he sighed. "I always told Lucy that we'd retire here." Shaking off his sudden bout of melancholy, he brought his gaze back to Lou and said more briskly, "I've leased some of the places to various universities and scientific entities to conduct experiments in vulcanology and whatnot. None of them are on islands close by, and most of them are automated anyway. Mateo Island, which is basically a big rock sticking out of the Pacific, had been used by the Japanese as a secret submarine and aircraft base over a century ago. I retrofitted it and now it's our fuel depot, as well as an emergency landing and repair spot for the Thunderbirds."

"Sounds like you're making the best use of your resources," she said, admiration in her tone.

"I always do," he replied, his voice suddenly softening as he reached out a hand to cup her face.

"So, am I one of those resources?" she asked playfully.

"In more ways than you can count, Lou," Jeff replied with sincerity, his thumb absently smoothing over her cheek.

She leaned into the caress, rubbing her cheek on his palm while their eyes met, both dark and glittering. Then he shifted himself closer to her, and she leaned forward so that their lips met too, softly at first, then with more relish. Kiss followed kiss, deepening little by little, becoming more eager, ardent and hungry.

Their bodies moved closer together, pressing against each other. Lou had both arms around Jeff's neck and one hand in the hair at the back of his head. Jeff pulled her close with one arm, his hand pressing her back between the shoulder blades. The other hand stayed at her face for a little bit, then he began to gently stroke the side of her neck with his fingertips. Without thinking, he moved his fingers lightly down to the base of her throat and across to trace her collarbone. Her eyes, which had been closed, shot open and, reluctantly, she broke their clinch.

Pulling her arms away, she first took his hand and placed it back against her cheek, covering it with one of her own. Then she reached out again with her other hand to trace the edge of his face, using her fingertips to stroke from his temple downward and along his jawline.

"I... I don't think I'm ready to go any farther," she breathed, glancing down briefly, then meeting his gaze.

Jeff was startled at first by her statement, then realized how his body had begun to stir during their kissing. That knowledge made him feel unsettled, though he couldn't put a finger on why. He swallowed, then nodded. "I understand," he replied gently. "I don't think I am, either."

He reached his other hand up and cupped her face, smoothing his thumbs gently over her temples. Kissing her chastely on the forehead, he said with soft regret, "I told you, and everyone, that Penelope is coming tomorrow afternoon."

"Yes," she replied.

He looked upwards for a moment and sighed, then brought his eyes back down to hers. "I know this isn't a good time to talk about this, but... I think we should keep our relationship low-key while she's here. I really feel uncomfortable waving it in her face, as it were."

"Ah," Lou said, nodding slowly. "I understand." She gave him a rueful smile. "I won't say it will be easy, but you're right. Low-key it will be."

"Thank you, Lou," Jeff said gratefully. He kissed her once more on the lips, feeling her respond to the caress, then broke away completely. "We'd better go back. It's going to be a long day."

"Yes, it will," she replied. She sat back on her feet and reached over to pick up her wine glass. It had fallen over when she had put it down in the heat of their kissing, spilling the remainder of her wine onto the silver white sands. Jeff took it from her and put it back in the basket. He put his sandals back on while she tucked her socks in her jeans pocket and put her bare feet into her sneakers. Together they shook the sand from the blanket, and she folded it up. He draped the much lighter basket over his forearm, and picked up the lantern, holding it with the hand that had the basket. Then he offered her his free hand.

"We can still have our run in the morning, though," Jeff said, his smile flashing white in the lantern's light.

"Yes, we can. I'm looking forward to it," Lou replied, returning his smile. She took his hand, and they walked back to the Round House, their fingers intertwined.

xxxx

Scott was up late, composing an email to John.

_Hey, John,_

_Hope you're okay up there and have had time to somehow celebrate the squirt's engagement to Tin-Tin. Boy, did that come out of left field! I was really shocked... especially when I arrived in Thunderbird Three and walked in on them during foreplay!_

He took a few moments to describe the position he found Alan and Tin-Tin in when he arrived on the scene, ending the replay with, _"So, as you can see, there's some fine blackmail material right there as neither of them would want to admit to Father and Kyrano that they were so close to going all the way."_

He sighed as he started his next paragraph.

_As far as Melissa and the estate are concerned, where do I start? I've already heard from her, her father and Pete's father. Out of the three, Pete's father was easiest to deal with. He just wanted to know how long probate would take. Mr. O'Connor was the worst; he wanted me to hand the job of executor over to him, implying that, since I'm not family, I can't possibly do the job right. Actually, **he's **the main reason I'm not giving up this job. He seems to think that he has control over his daughter as long as she's under his roof. So my first order of business, after giving the attorneys the okay to start the process of probate, is to get Melissa and the kids out from under his roof. She's asked me to get her back to Unity City; she says that Pete would have wanted her to continue living there. _

_I agree with her. Pete **would** want her to return to Unity City, but I think she doesn't know how hard it will be, especially so soon after his death. I remember vividly how Dad reacted when we first moved here six years ago. In a way, he was glad, and he knew in his head that the island was the place we had to be, but he was **that** close to exhuming Mom and moving her body here so he could still be close. Strangely enough, it was Grandma who talked him out of that one. I don't know what she said, but I might have to ask her. _

_My plan is to be part of the flight crew when Lady Penelope goes home. Alan and Tin-Tin can deliver the back seat of FAB-1 to Rolls Royce for re-upholstering, and while they're busy looking for engagement rings in London, I can take a side trip to see Melissa and get things organized for her to get her back to Unity City. I might ask Dad if I can go with her and fly her down there myself. Pete did ask me to watch over Mel and the kids for him; if I put it that way, Dad might not object. Then again, that would leave just Virge, Gordon and Brains in case of a rescue, none of whom I'd want to trust with Thunderbird One. Damn! Why does life have to be so complicated for us?_

_Thank Brigitte for asking about Melissa and the kids. She's sweet to do so. I'm looking forward to a full report on your lady friend when you get back, Johnny!_

_Well, that's all for now! Hope to hear from you soon._

_Scott_

He checked over his spelling, and took a moment to think if there was anything he wanted to add. There wasn't, so he clicked on the "send" button. Glancing over at his clock, he realized it was the wee hours of the morning. He yawned, stretched, pulled off his slacks and shirt, slipped into a pair of pajama bottoms, and slid between the covers. It didn't take long before he was snoring, curled up on his side with one arm bent under his pillow and the other draped across his chest.

xxxx

Early afternoon on the US west coast, and Eddie Kerr was smiling as he dictated details for his big exposé into his computer. His telephone interview with the former Russian senator had been enlightening, to say the least. The man had not only given him the bare bones of the incident, he had put Kerr in touch with a couple of people from the World Government who had been on the scene.

"Okay, what do we have? A Russian spy, bearing secrets gained from the rogue state, Bereznik, secrets vital to world security, was trapped by a cave in at their border with Russia. International Rescue was asked to pull him from the cave by the World Security Council's Admiral Dante, who promised World Air Force cover if Bereznik forces tried to stop them. They flat out refused, citing their policy of non-interference in world politics." Eddie made a face. "Some policy."

He returned to his dictation. "So, the World Government tried to force their hand. They allowed Russia to set in motion a plan to trap the daughter of Bereznik's dictator, General Berenora, in a deadly situation so he would call for IR. Then they warned IR that if they didn't rescue the Russian agent, the WAF would shoot them out of the sky should they go to Bereznik's aid."

He paused and checked the shorthand notes on his data pad, then listened again to his recording of the interview before continuing. "IR flew to Bereznik, and hung around the border, chased by WAF planes. According to my source's agents, IR's little sub showed up in the main harbor of the capital city, and the man who operated it was taken to General Toblosk, chief of the secret police. Shortly after his arrival, a man dressed in an International Rescue uniform tried to assassinate Berenora. But a warning came through from the lead Thunderbird craft, and the assassination was foiled."

Kerr took a sip of water from a glass on his desk, and continued. "Berenora gave IR permission to go after the Russian agent, and while the big cargo carrier was working on that, the lead Thunderbird craft and its pilot worked to retrieve the general's daughter and all the people trapped with her."

He referred to the notes again. "The Thunderbirds accomplished the rescue of the general's daughter, then their rocket plane blasted a hole in a detention center, ostensibly to rescue their sub operator, whose uniform was _supposedly_ taken by Berenora's assassin. The blast killed Toblosk, who was, up to then, a trusted member of the Bereznik government. The sub operator was returned to his craft and the lead Thunderbird took out the boats guarding it. Then they all ended up at the Bereznik-Russian border, where the spy was still trapped. They finally got him out, and when the World Gov forces caught up with them, one of the IR pilots told them that the papers were destroyed." He sniffed. "For an outfit that doesn't get involved in politics, the destruction of those papers seemed pretty political."

He sat back and tapped his fingers on his desk top, contemplating his computer screen. "Now, what angle do I take? The defiance of the World Government is probably the main theme here. They wouldn't help when asked to, they entered enemy airspace when warned not to, they destroyed, or _said_ they destroyed, vital papers that the World Gov had gone to great lengths to obtain. There is evidence of collusion with Bereznik at a point when it was a rogue state, then, on the flip side, there's the death of the chief of their secret police. And who was it that tried to assassinate Berenora, anyway? He wore IR's uniform."

Kerr frowned when he thought of the uniform and how easily he had been duped into believing that the impostors who had tried to ruin IR's reputation were the real thing. "That's not going to happen this time," he said to himself softly. "I will make sure every thing is well-documented." He pulled out his PDA to make a note to himself. "I'll need to find someone who can confirm what happened in Bereznik. Possibly even Berenora himself, if he'll talk to me."

His vidphone rang, and he reached over to activate it. The face of his personal assistant, Suzanne, appeared.

"Eddie? That Janice Kaplan has called again. She's getting pretty hot about being put off."

The TV personality grimaced. "Put her through." He saved his file, and turned to face the vidphone, adjusting his tie to fit snugly. When the tired, sour face of Janice Kaplan appeared on the screen, he smiled at her winningly.

"What can I do for you, Detective?"

"I got an email from you a couple of days ago, referring to a local murder. You insinuated that one of the bullets retrieved from the scene had been identified as coming from a gun used by International Rescue. I'd like to know where you came up with this idea," Janice said bluntly.

"Well, first off, Detective, do you mind confirming my statement? _Was_ a gun used in the murder identified as being IR ordnance?" Kerr asked, oozing innocent curiosity.

Kaplan scowled at him. "I can't confirm your statement. This is an ongoing investigation, and no details surrounding it can be released without prior approval from the Portland police department's public relations office."

"Ah," Eddie said, nodding in understanding. He smiled at her again, this time regretfully. "Then I'm afraid, Detective Kaplan, that I can't answer your question either. A good reporter has the obligation to protect his sources."

The detective rolled her eyes. "Somehow, I knew that would be your response. Good night, Mr. Kerr." The connection was abruptly cut off at the detective's end.

"Well!" Eddie said, sitting back a bit. "That wasn't too productive, or maybe it was. She wanted to know where I got the rumor, which means it might be true. Let's see. Who do I know up that way?" He consulted his PDA again as he thought out loud. "Whoever it is I'll ask them to get me more details. I can always present the murder weapon's pedigree as a rumor. That should keep my butt covered."

He glanced up from his PDA and closed the dictation file, pulling up in its place one that he had started with vital statistics on James Franks. "Hmm. Former Interpol, fired for witness tampering, crack shot, ladies' man... there's _got_ to be more. Why on earth would International Rescue want him dead? And why did he kidnap those two women? I got their names, but Shelly Clarendon's phone number has been changed, and Lucinda Myles's has been disconnected. Do they have a connection with International Rescue, and if so, what is it?"

Shaking his head, he started to do another online search. "Franks has got to have some relations out there that I could talk to. While I'm at it, I'll do some digging into these two women." He sighed. "There's so much research to be done... I guess I'd better hand some of this out to one of the staff."

He pressed the button that put him in touch with his assistant. "Suz?"

"Yes, Eddie?"

"Come in here, please."

"On my way."

A moment later, Suzanne opened the door and stuck her head in. Kerr, who was rereading his dictation, waved her inside.

"What do you need, Eddie?" she asked as she sat down, an expression of curiosity on her dark face.

"You know that big story I told you about? The one I was going to handle myself?"

"Yeah," she replied, crossing her legs as she got comfortable, holding her data pad at the ready. Kerr glanced at her; he appreciated her figure and the way she subtly displayed it for him, but he learned through experience: don't fraternize with the help.

"Well, it's too big for me to handle by myself. I'm going to need a couple of the research staff in on this. Who's available?"

She consulted her pad. "Uh, Liam's almost finished with what he's working on, and Asha will be back from vacation tomorrow."

"Good. They're just the pair I need," Kerr said, dividing his attention between his assistant and his computer. "I'm downloading some material to your computer for printout. I'll need it by the end of the day, and make copies for those two as well. Don't put it in their boxes, though. Send them to me first thing and I'll hand the materials to them myself. I want this story kept as hush-hush as possible."

"Why?" Suzanne asked, puzzled. "You said there wouldn't be any repercussions."

"Oh, there won't be any _legal_ repercussions; at least, I don't foresee any," Eddie said with a smile. "But other kinds? Oh, yeah. Plus, I don't want _anybody_ to beat me to the punch on this. I'll let the PR department know when to start creating the buzz about it."

"Okay, you're the boss," she said with a shrug. "So, what is this big story? You've really got me curious."

He laughed slightly. "You'll see when you get the files. Don't worry, I guarantee it'll be a big ratings grabber."


	14. This must remain my secret

_Author's Note:_ Kyrano and Tin-Tin talk. Jeff takes a trip down memory lane. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

Since fanfiction(dot)net no longer allows for internal review responses, I will be replying personally from now on.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

"Ladybird requesting takeoff clearance," Tin-Tin radioed as she taxied her private jet out to the runway. 

"Clearance granted, Ladybird," Jeff's voice came in response. "We'll see you later today."

"Roger that, Tracy Island. Ladybird out," the pilot replied, smiling as she accelerated her little plane down the short airstrip. Under her skillful guidance, Ladybird took off smoothly into the late morning air.

"Well, we're off, Father," she said as she turned to her co-pilot. "I am so excited! Lady Penelope is coming back! I can hardly wait to tell her my news!"

Kyrano, wearing sunglasses and headphones, turned to her and smiled widely. "She will be very happy for you and Alan."

"I wonder if she would like to be my maid of honor?" The excited girl's eyes got big at the sudden thought. "I can't think of anyone better, can you?"

Her father shook his head. "No, daughter. There is no better choice. And I think she will be flattered that you consider her so close a friend."

"Then I'll ask on the way back to the island." She turned to her father briefly. "How long do you think your business in Wellington will take?"

"Not long. Most of the items I have ordered will be waiting for us at the airport. But I wish to stop at the market and select some fresh produce and some delicacies that will please Lady Penelope while she is again our guest. I have a menu planned and find I lack some of the ingredients."

"That's fine," Tin-Tin replied. "We can have lunch in Wellington then go on to Bongo-Bongo."

"I will enjoy having lunch with you, my daughter," he responded.

They were quiet for a time, and Kyrano thought about what he wanted to say to Tin-Tin about her heritage and especially about his own half-brother. _It is imperative that she know about it **all**, for it may impact her life later, especially as she and Alan have children. I do not hope to outlive my half-brother, and she must not be left without defenses against him._

"Tin-Tin?" he began, his voice soft in the speakers of her headphones.

She turned to him with a dazzling smile. "Yes, Father?"

He took a deep breath. "I must speak to you about a serious matter, and this is the most private place and time for me to do so."

Her smile faded. "Serious? What is so serious that we have to speak of it in private?"

There was a moment of quiet as Kyrano gathered his thoughts, then he spoke again, his voice low and solemn. "I must speak to you about my heritage, and yours. Most importantly, I must talk to you about my half-brother, Belah Gaat."

"What about him?" Tin-Tin asked, her excited, bubbly mood suddenly evaporating.

"You know that he is my enemy, and that he has long plagued me, violating my mind and my will with his mental powers," her father began.

"Yes, Father," she responded. "I know. I saw the way he tormented you, even if I didn't understand it at the time."

"Those were evil days," Kyrano said softly. He took a deep breath and continued. "When I first discovered what he was doing to me, I thought his powers sprang from his mother, who was hailed in our town as a sorceress. But as I looked closer into my own family history, I found, to my great dismay, that it was through my father's line that he derived his abilities. My father himself had no knowledge of this, and so was ignorant of the way his younger son manipulated him. Yet there were clues, hints in the family records, that others of our line had these powers. I realized then that I, too, must have these abilities, but they were latent within me."

"Is that when you went away and into seclusion?" Tin-Tin asked, risking a glance at her father.

He nodded. "Yes, it was. I was determined to develop the power of my mind to the extent that I could block his attacks. But no more than that. Having tasted what was possible should I choose to abuse my new-found abilities, I decided that to go further would put me on a par with my brother, and I did not desire to even be tempted to do what he had done to me. I knew that to violate another person's mind was a horrible thing, a crime against another's soul, and I would not give myself the capacity to do it."

Tin-Tin smiled softly. "That's to your credit, Father. I have always been thankful for the way you put others before yourself."

"I thank you, Tin-Tin," he replied. "It is not always an easy thing to do, but it is worthwhile." He sighed heavily. "Unfortunately, I discovered that to develop my mind enough to resist Gaat's attacks, I had to allow for the skill to probe another's mind. The temptation is great to use it, but each day, I renew my vows to resist that urge." There was a pause, then he turned fully to her. "In any case, I wished to discuss the bearing that these abilities would have on you... and your children."

She looked at him with a concerned frown. "What do you mean, Father?"

He was silent for a moment, then replied, "Because of the blood ties between us, Gaat was able to exercise his influence over me from a far distance. Even now he occasionally tries to gain access to my mind from where we know him to be. With anyone else, he has had to be in close proximity."

"Like he was with Brains and me at Lake Anasta," she commented. She frowned again. "But if blood ties make it easier to reach a person's mind from a distance, why hasn't he tried to reach mine?"

Kyrano smiled softly. "He made a fatal mistake at Anasta, daughter. In using his powers against you there, he triggered some sort of defensive mechanism in your mind. He cannot reach you. He might be able to mesmerize you again at close range to render you unconscious, but he cannot access your mind. Nor, I should say, can I."

Tin-Tin stared at her father for a long moment. "You mean, he can't... you can't... I don't know how to express this!" She took a deep breath to calm herself. "So, I'm protected against him?"

"Yes, Tin-Tin, you are. I do not know why or how. It might have something to do with your mother, but what, I cannot guess."

"Could I develop those powers you have?" she asked, her face now curious.

"I do not know. Your mind's defensive shields may not allow you to." His smile faded. "However, your children are another matter. They may be vulnerable or they may not. Part of that will depend on Alan."

"Does Alan seem vulnerable to you?" she asked, surprised at the turn that the conversation had taken.

"I have not probed his mind to determine that. It is against my principles to do so. His father, however, is sensitive and open. Often I can 'hear' him, especially when he is deep in thought or very distressed. That is when I bring him coffee, or a word of advice. He often comments favorably on how I seem to know just what he needs when he needs it."

"But... I thought you didn't probe..." Tin-Tin said, confused.

Kyrano lifted his hands. "I do not. I merely hear him. It takes no effort on my part to know what he thinks in those situations. And he is the only one among the Tracys whom I can hear. None of his sons are open to me. That is why I cannot answer your question about Alan." He looked down. "But what is closed to me may be open to my half-brother. So you and Alan must be cautious with your children." He smiled slightly. "I do not expect to outlive Gaat. And he will keep probing, looking for a weakness he can exploit. You must be alert and look for the signs you saw in me before I learned to block him."

Tin-Tin was silent for a long moment. She sighed heavily. "In light of this, it might be better if Alan and I remain childless. Though I'm not sure I can convince Alan of the necessity of it."

Kyrano gasped with surprise and laid a hand on his daughter's arm. "No, Tin-Tin! You must not let my half-brother's hatred taint your future with Alan. Have children, or not, because you both agree to do so! Not because of this man's threat!" He squeezed her arm and she glanced over at him, her face sad. "There is no telling what the future will bring, my daughter. He may die long before your children are of an age to be useful to him. And besides," here he smiled warmly at her, "I wish to become an ancestor. Mr. Tracy would feel the same way, I am sure."

His comments made her chuckle a little, and she lowered her moist eyes as she smiled slightly. "Thank you, Father. I do want to talk to Alan about this. Will you help me explain it?"

"I will try. However, I do not want my friend to know that I can hear his thoughts," Kyrano said gravely. "I feel it would damage our friendship."

Tin-Tin thought that over for a moment and nodded. "I can see how you'd feel that way, Father. But isn't it better to be honest with him?"

"In most cases, I would agree. But this? I do not think he would understand. Or trust me after such a revelation." He shook his head slowly. "No, this must remain my secret."

"All right, Father. I don't necessarily agree, but it's your decision."

"Thank you, Tin-Tin," the old man said quietly. He smiled, and changed the subject. "So, when you set a date, where will you have the wedding?"

"One thing at a time, Father!" she cried, suddenly laughing. "One thing at a time!"

He joined her laughter and they discussed the possibilities until they came into range of Wellington's main airport.

xxxx

"How much is left to do here?"

"Not much, Dad," Alan answered, looking up at his father's comment. Jeff was standing near the bonnet of the Rolls, smoothing his hand over the pink surface.

"Specifics?"

"Just reupholstering and installing the rear seat, then installing the canopy over it. We left the canopy off to make handling the seat easier."

"Could you still install the seat if the canopy was in place?" Jeff asked.

Alan nudged Kenny, who was under FAB-1's chassis, checking the wiring harness one last time. The mechanic slid out, fixing his friend with a perplexed look.

"Dad wants to know if the seat could be installed with the canopy in place." Alan asked.

Kenny sat up and levered himself to his feet. "Well, yeah, it's possible," he said, turning to Jeff. "It would be easier with the canopy off, that's all."

Jeff nodded slowly. "I'm asking because I'm not sure how to get FAB-1 home. I think it should go back to England with Penny, but only if the work can be done there. I know that you've got other commitments coming up, Kenny, and I'm trying to schedule departures and arrivals so that IR isn't left understaffed."

"I understand, Mr. Tracy," Kenny replied. "The fold-down armrests are the tricky part with the built in handcuffs and all."

Jeff made a face. "Maybe we can get Brains and Alan out there later to make those modifications. I just think Penny would feel better having her Rolls back in England with her." He made a motion toward the back of the car. "Put the rear canopy on, boys. We'll install the rear seat when it's been reupholstered."

Alan nodded, and moved over to the toolboxes. Jeff headed for the stairs to the lab, taking one last glance at the pink Rolls. Then he turned and mounted the stairs to the lab proper.

"Good morning, Brains," he said as he entered. "Have you set up a meeting with Dr. Macias yet?"

"N-Not yet, Mr. Tracy," the scientist said, peering at his computer screen. "I have e-e-emailed her to see when I could, uh, visit. I'm w-waiting for an answer." He turned and glanced up at his employer. "She has to p-plan things around her ch-children's schedules, you see."

Jeff smiled slightly. "I understand. Let me know as soon as you know when it's convenient. I want to get her on board as quickly as possible."

"Y-Yes, sir."

Jeff strode out of the lab. The doors swished shut behind him and he looked around, puzzled. The monorail car that had he had left there a little while ago was gone. _I wonder who could have called for it, and how many people are down here right now? Usually, two cars are more than enough._

He backed up to the wall, where the lock to the lab was situated. There was a call button on the bottom of the pad, one that would bring whichever of the monorail cars was free to the lab entrance. He pushed it, then stepped back to the edge of the platform to wait.

It took a few minutes, but a car soon appeared, coming around the lower bend, heading up the incline from Thunderbird Two's hangar and the pod bay. Beyond the light, Jeff could see the silhouette of one of his sons sitting in the car. _Gordon, _he thought as he identified the profile. _Wonder what he's doing down here?_

"Hey, Dad!" came the cheery greeting as the doors to the monorail opened and Jeff stepped inside. "What are you doing down here?"

"I could ask you the same question, son," Jeff replied as he leaned up against the side of the car. "I was wondering who had called the car while I was in the pod vehicle repair bay, checking on FAB-1."

"Oh, so that's why it took so long for the car to show up!" Gordon exclaimed with a grin. "Well, I was checking on things in the boat pen and took some time practicing in the shooting range. Everything is shipshape with the fleet, but I found something interesting in the gallery."

"What was that?"

"You know that Aunt Lou used it yesterday to practice?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Well, everything was cleaned up nice and neat when I got there, and her targets - she used two of the silhouette forms - were in the trash. But something caught my eye and I pulled one out to look at it. Turns out she used one in the traditional manner, hitting the targets on the head and chest, and doing it very well, I'd say. But on the second one, she shot out the upper 'arms' on each side. Didn't touch the head or chest at all." He cocked his head and gave his father a puzzled frown. "Why do you think she did that?"

Jeff thought for a long moment as the car passed Thunderbird One's launch pad, heading to the rendezvous with the monorail's main junction and the elevator to the house. Then he nodded slowly. He glanced at Gordon and gave him a small smile.

"Don't worry about it, Gordon," he said as his son brought the car to a halt. "It's just a quirk of Lou's."

Gordon folded his arms and gave his father a, "Tell me another one" look. "You know something."

"Maybe," Jeff admitted. "Maybe not. In either case, it's not something that should concern you. Like I said, it's a quirk of Lou's. If she feels the need to explain it, she will. But don't hold your breath."

"Hmph." Gordon shook his head, not pleased with his father's beating around the bush. "If I went and asked her, do you think she'd give me a straight answer?"

Jeff's face suddenly became serious. "Don't ask her, Gordon. Just don't," he warned.

Gordon's eyes narrowed a bit, and his face took on an expression that Jeff knew only too well. _He's going to ask her anyway. _Before his son could speak, Jeff put up a warning finger.

"Don't, Gordon. That's an order."

His vehemence surprised the aquanaut, who shrugged and said, "Okay, okay! Relax, will ya? I won't ask her, I promise."

The car came to a halt and Jeff stepped out of the car. He glanced back and asked, "Coming?"

The younger man huffed out a breath and followed his father, closing the monorail car's sliding door behind him. They rode up to the house in silence, both staring at the elevator's double paneled door; Jeff thinking of the ramifications of what Gordon had told him and Gordon trying to figure out a way around his father's restriction. When they reached the lower level of the villa, Gordon sauntered off, but Jeff walked slowly to the stairs that went up, deep in thought about what Lou's actions could mean. Then he sighed heavily and went to his own quarters.

Once inside his bedroom, he entered one of the spacious walk-in closets. He had commissioned the design of the house before Lucille's death, when he had hopes of retiring there with her. "Plenty of room for the boys to come visit," he had told her as they went over the designs together. "And lots of space for guests as well. I expect we'll be entertaining an lot in the future."

But it was a future that had never happened. Instead, some of the downstairs rooms which had been designated for guests were turned over to Brains, Tin-Tin, and Kyrano. A suite had been set aside there for Eleanor, and the plans for each son to have his own little flat had been followed. The major change was that, instead of the boys being frequent visitors to the island, they lived there full-time.

The closet that Jeff walked into would have been Lucille's. It wasn't empty; it held some of her things that Jeff found he just couldn't part with, mementos of her and the deep love they shared. He very rarely ventured into the closet; the memories often overwhelmed him, leaving him somber and melancholy for days. But today Gordon's observations made him think, not just of Lucille, but of the friendship she had shared with Lou, and a time in that relationship when his wife had felt frustrated and powerless to help her younger friend.

_Where are they? _he asked himself, opening the plastic boxes one by one and setting each unwanted one aside as he searched. At last he came to a box full of small, bound books, much like the ones his mother had shown him the day before. He smiled softly, and pulled one of the books out at random to see what date it bore. He shook his head. _There must be more somewhere._

And there were. He selected a volume from this second container, opened it briefly, nodded in approval, then tucked it back inside. Lifting the heavy box carefully, he pulled it from the closet and dove back in, looking now for something similar, yet different.

The second container he opened was the jackpot. It contained scrapbooks, most of them about the boys and their lives, but some about Lucille, her family, and her friends. He opened one at random and was faced with a picture of his wife and her father, taken during one of the rare Christmas holidays they had spent with her family. He sighed. He hadn't hated his in-laws, not at all, but he had found from the first that they had little in common. Later, he discovered that they disapproved of his life as an astronaut, and of him in general, especially when his newly-founded company took him away from home as much as it did in the early days. Despite overtures of peace from him and Lucille, they had found themselves drifting further and further away from her parents and brother. When Lucille died, the ties were all but severed. At first, Jeff had tried to keep his in-laws updated on the lives of his sons, as Lucille had done, but that had dwindled to the obligatory Christmas card. Her family didn't seem all that interested.

He put that scrapbook back in its place and shuffled through the remaining volumes. At last he found one with a bright yellow cover, and the words, "Best Friends", written on it with a glossy purple paint. He smiled, and took it with him. Laying it on the bed, he began to thumb through its pages. There were pictures, lots of pictures, images of Lucy and Lou in places that they had visited as part of their yearly "girls' week" getaways. Chuckling as he flipped through, he found himself focusing as much on Lou's face as he did on Lucille's, often catching expressions that he didn't remember being there before, mostly because he had been so entranced with the face of his wife when he first saw the photos. Finally, he came to several pages that had printouts of newspaper articles pasted on them and notes scribbled in the margins around them. He took a few moments to scan a few of the articles, his face growing more troubled by the minute. Then he turned to the box of journals.

He pulled the books out one by one, glancing at the dates on the inside of the front covers, setting aside the unwanted ones in piles that grew like stubby stalagmites around the box. Finally he found the one he was looking for. Scooping up the scrapbook, he took both volumes to his sitting room, and made himself comfortable on the leather sofa. He opened the yellow album, laying it on the ottoman before him, and thumbed through the journal to find the entries that correlated with the dates written in the margins around the pasted-in material.

Lucille's handwriting was long and loopy, and Jeff squinted as he held her journal at arms' length. _Damn. Forgot my glasses. _With a finger acting as a bookmark, he carried the book along as he padded back into his bedroom to fetch his second pair of lenses. Then he returned to the sofa to settle down once again. He could almost hear Lucy's voice in his mind as he read.

_July 17, 2057_

_I just got back from my week away with Lou and I have to say we've had better times together. Something was wrong with her, really wrong. She was too quiet, picked at her food, wasn't interested in buying anything, and didn't laugh as much as she usually does. She tried hard, but I could see that there was something bothering her. Problem was, no matter how I tried, I just couldn't weasel it out of her. So, being concerned, I actually called Greg to ask him what the problem was._

_He sighed. Greg always sighs when I phone, like I'm imposing on him to tell Lou I'm calling. But this time was different, this time I wanted to talk to him. When I asked what was going on, he was surprised; I could hear it in his tone. He asked me if she had told me anything. I told him that if she had, I wouldn't be calling. Finally, he asked me if I'd heard about the shooting in Toronto. I said I hadn't. He told me to do a search on it, and gave me the date: February 19. Then he wished me good luck and hung up._

_So, I went and did a Net search on the matter and, boy! I found more than I expected! Seems Lou shot and killed someone in an alley. The early reports stated that she was hospitalized and the investigation was "on-going". It was a hot story for a week or so, but the articles got smaller and less prominent as time went on. There were also some pretty vitriolic op-ed letters, but they petered out... until she was released from the hospital. Then there was another explosion of criticism, mostly because she was being sent home to recover and would leave Canadian jurisdiction. _

_Fortunately, the Mounties had finished their preliminary investigation and weren't charging her. Their verdict: self-defense. The man she shot had killed another Interpol officer - an undercover one - just minutes before, then turned his gun on her. Her employer was quoted as saying she would be dealt with according to their "internal policies" and would be "surrendered" if the Canadian authorities decided to charge her later on._

_I'm really upset by all of this, not only because my friend has been going through this hell but also because she wouldn't talk to me about it. I want to be there for her, to give her a shoulder to cry on or someone to rant at if that's what she needs. But she shut me out and I don't understand why._

"That's my Lucy, always there for those she loved," Jeff murmured as he wiped the moisture away from his eyes and turned the page.

_July 19, 2057_

_Jeff came home today and I talked to him about Lou, showing him all the articles I had printed out. His counsel was to write her, send her a card to let her know that I knew and I was available to talk to. Typical man! Like that's going to help! I want to be active, to hold her and tell her everything's going to be okay!_

_After dinner, I brought up the subject again, and told him how frustrated I felt, how much I wanted to help. He turned to me and asked me what I planned on doing. Well, duh! I don't know what to do! That's the whole point!_

_That's when he made a comment that got me thinking. He asked me how much I knew about these things? Could I really understand what she was going through? Well, of course not, I told him, but I'm her friend! That's got to count for something!_

_He shook his head. He told me that in the Air Force, and in the WSA, there are psychiatrists and counselors to deal with the aftermath of these kinds of episodes. He saw men who had killed or had seen their comrades die, and what they went through afterwards wasn't pretty. It required professional help. The sympathy and support of friends and family just wasn't enough. _

_He had a point, one that I hadn't really thought of before. So, I called Greg again. I wanted to make sure Lou was getting that help. He told me she had, that it was required by Interpol after a shooting where an officer was injured or killed. I asked Greg if he knew why she would have shut me out. He couldn't tell me. All he said was that she was getting better and that the trip had been good for her. It was like things were almost normal again._

_I really wanted to talk to her but, all of a sudden, I didn't know what to say. That's when I decided not to tell her I knew. Whatever happened, she obviously wants to put it behind her and I think that if I make a fuss about it now, it might just make things worse. So, I've ordered one of the recordings that she was looking at in Philly and sending it to her with a card telling her I was thinking of her. It's not enough, not by a long shot, but it's all I can think of right now. Maybe some day she'll open up about what happened. I hope so._

"She never did, did she, Luce?" Jeff said softly. He thumbed through the pages one by one, finally stopping at another entry.

_August 2, 2057_

_I heard from Lou today. She looked so much better, and sounded more like her old self. She apologized for being such a wet blanket on the trip and thanked me for the recording. We talked about our usual stuff: the kids, our husbands, our reading list, the latest vids. She told me that she and Greg were moving... again. This time it's Wisconsin. I swear, that man has got to put his foot down and tell his company to keep him in one place! At this rate they'll never be able to adopt!_

_She didn't mention what happened, and I didn't ask. Maybe Greg already told her that I knew, but I'm not sure about that. She said we'd have to do Philly again so she could really appreciate it. I told her that we were doing St. Louis next time, and we had a good hearted argument about it. Ended up laughing so hard I nearly peed my pants. But, damn! It was good to hear her and see her looking and sounding normal again. _

_Jeff seemed pleased that I kept my big mouth shut about the shooting. He's off again tomorrow to Vladivostok. I keep asking him when we're going to retire to that island he keeps harping about. He says soon. I say, I'll believe it when I see it._

Jeff stopped reading. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Oh, God, Luce. If I had known... if I had only known what was going to happen, I would have stopped my traveling and come here with you." He sighed heavily. "But there's the rub. If I _had_ known, I would have moved heaven and earth to keep it from happening. I always thought we had forever, Lucy. Forever to watch our boys grow, marry, see our grandchildren." His hand clenched, shutting the book sharply. "Damn it, Lucy! It wasn't fair!" he shouted. Then he calmed and looked at the book in his hand. "It just wasn't fair."

He put the journal down and picked up the scrapbook. Turning past the pages with the articles on them, he found pictures of the two women again. They looked happy, posing for the camera in silly ways. Finally he came to a particular photo, one that must have been taken by someone else. The pair of them were either sitting or standing - he couldn't tell which - and they were dressed up, in matching satin shirts and vests of the same style but different colors. They each had a glass of wine in one hand; their heads were inclined toward each other and they were grinning, clinking the glasses together. Lou had an arm around Lucy's shoulder; he could see her left hand with the wedding band and diamond still in place. Lucy, however, had mischievously put two fingers up behind her friend's head, like bunny ears.

Jeff couldn't help but chuckle. He had lost count of how many pictures taken of him and Lucille had a similar outcome; her fingers impishly sticking out from behind his head, or his from behind hers. It was a joke between them and they had passed it on to their sons, particularly Gordon.

On impulse, he carefully loosened the picture from the page. It creased slightly as he did, and he smoothed it out with a hand. Then he went back into his bedroom, back into Lucille's closet, this time to find a frame suitable for the picture. But before he could start searching the boxes again, the intercom in his room chimed for his attention.

"Dad?" Scott's voice rang out, sounding concerned.

Jeff put the picture down on his nightstand, then stepped over to the intercom panel and pushed a switch. "Yes, Scott?"

"Grandma wanted me to tell you that lunch is ready."

"Thanks for telling me, Scott. I'll be right there."

He turned to look at his bedroom, usually so neat and spartan, so military in its cleanliness, now cluttered with piles of books and half emptied boxes. He blew out a breath. _I'll deal with this later, after I find what I'm looking for_, he promised himself before striding from his suite and heading downstairs to lunch.


	15. This is about Penelope, isn't it?

_Author's Note:_ My muse went on vacation over Christmas, but writing _Grandpa's Hat _got her back to work. Unfortunately, she was rather flabby, and there were many revisions before we got to finish this chapter.

Lady Penelope hears the news, and Tin-Tin asks a question. The family eats lunch. Lou and Eleanor work together. Gordon makes a decision. Jeff prepares for dinner. And a rescue is imminent. Thanks to FrankieCTB2, Math Girl, and Hobbeth for being sounding boards and betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

Lady Penelope was sitting in the Jeep near the end of the airstrip at Bongo-Bongo when Tin-Tin brought Ladybird to a gentle halt. She waited until Tin-Tin had disembarked and was coming towards her before climbing out of her vehicle. 

"Oh, my dear Tin-Tin! It is _so_ good to see you!" she exclaimed as she gently embraced her friend and kissed her lightly on both cheeks.

Tin-Tin returned the greeting, saying, "You are looking so rested, Penelope! This ranch living has done you a world of good!"

"It has, Tin-Tin. It most certainly has." Penny glanced over her shoulder at Parker and Mick, who had driven the ranch's pickup truck to the airstrip. "Parker! See to my things!"

"Yus, Milady," the chauffeur replied.

Kyrano stepped over to the ladies and bowed to Penelope. "I am glad to see you well rested, Lady Penelope."

"Oh! Thank you, Kyrano," Penny responded, smiling at the retainer. She led them both over to the Jeep, where Carrie stood, ready to drive them back to the ranch proper. "I am sure you are both tired from your flight. You must come to the house for a cup of tea and some refreshment before we leave. I am so very anxious to hear all the news from Tracy Island."

"And do I have some news for you!" Tin-Tin exclaimed, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She climbed into the back of the Jeep with Penelope while Kyrano sat in front, next to Carrie. "You'll never believe what happened!"

"Tell me all about it over that cup of tea!" Penny cried as they began the bumpy ride back to the ranch house.

xxxx

Lunch was a quiet affair. Jeff kept an eye on Gordon, who chatted with Lou about her niece, but didn't mention the topic of their earlier conversation. Eleanor reminded Jeff of his upcoming duties as host and as chef. He acknowledged her reminder, then asked his sons to set up chairs and tables around the pool area, putting Scott in charge.

"We're cooking outdoors; there's no reason we can't eat _al fresco_, too. The weather looks to be cooperative," he said. "Virgil, will you see to actually putting out the dishes and such? Alan can help."

"You want the napkins folded in fancy shapes?" Virgil asked with a grin.

"Yes, that would be a nice touch," Jeff agreed. "So would some recorded music piped outside. Gordon, your job is to make sure the pool is clean and free of any debris. Alan, you can sweep the flagstones until Virgil needs you." He turned to his eldest son. "You're my grilling lieutenant, Scott. With as much food as we'll be cooking, I'll need an extra set of hands and eyes."

Scott grinned and gave his father a sharp salute. "Yes, sir!"

"Wh-what about me?" Brains asked, looking concerned.

"The lab, Brains. We need those secure communications," Jeff said, wagging a finger at the engineer. "I'd rather have you focused on that than worrying about helping with dinner prep."

Lou shot a questioning look at Jeff, then turned to Eleanor. "Is there anything I can help with? My afternoon is clear."

The older woman hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, please, Lucinda. Kyrano left me a short list of things he couldn't quite get to before he and Tin-Tin left. If you could help with the lunch clean up, then give me a hand with the vegetables and preparing Lady Penelope's room, I'd appreciate it."

Lou nodded. "Whatever you need me to do, Mrs. Tracy. I'm game."

Eleanor smiled slightly. "Thank you, Lucinda."

Kenny looked around. "Hey, do you need my help with anything?"

"You and I still have that canopy to put on, Kenny," Alan reminded him.

"But that'll only take a couple of hours," the mechanic explained.

"Then, when you're done with that, you can call your wife," Jeff told him. "Barring unforeseen circumstances, I'd like Alan to fly you home tomorrow. He and Tin-Tin can shop for engagement rings in Los Angeles and stay overnight." He shook his head. "There's going to be a lot of people flying hither and yon over the next few days and I don't want to leave IR shorthanded. Alan and Tin-Tin go first. When they return, Virgil and Scott can take Lady Penelope and FAB-1 home in Thunderbird Two. Scott, you're to pick up a corporate jet in London and go on to Ireland from there. But don't be long about your business. Brains, I'm still waiting on a time for you to visit Dr. Macias."

"I'll l-let you know as soon as I, uh, do," Brains replied.

"Good." Jeff patted his mouth with his napkin. "So, Mother? Is there anything for dessert?"

xxxx

"Engaged!"

Lady Penelope's blue eyes were wide with shock and surprise. "You and Alan? Engaged?"

Tin-Tin smiled impishly. "Yes, Penelope. It's true. We're going to be married."

The aristocrat gasped, her facial expression changing slowly to delight. "Oh, my dear Tin-Tin! How simply wonderful! Congratulations!" She stood up and moved to embrace the younger woman. "When did Alan propose?"

"He didn't. I asked him, yesterday," Tin-Tin replied with a smug tone.

"_You_ asked _him_!" Penelope's eyes widened again in disbelief. She shook her head slowly as the news sank in. "I-I am at a loss! I suppose... I suppose it was the only way to get the poor boy to even _think_ about the question." She took Tin-Tin's arms and squeezed them. "I assume he gave the only correct answer."

"He did," Tin-Tin said, nodding vigorously.

"Have you seen a jeweler? Have you set a date?" Penelope sat down again, her tone of voice still indicating her delight, but much more composed. She poured out another cup of tea for Kyrano, then turned to him. "Oh, Kyrano! You must be so very pleased that your daughter is getting married."

"I am, Lady Penelope," the smiling retainer replied. "Both Mr. Tracy and I have given our consent and our blessing to their union."

"Oh, that is so good to hear," Penelope said, now calmer. She turned to Tin-Tin again. "So, my dear, you haven't answered my question."

"I haven't been able to get a word in edgewise!" the Malaysian girl protested good-humoredly. "No, and no. We haven't seen a jeweler, nor have we set a date. We do plan to shop for the rings within the next few days. John is anxious to get home and with FAB-1's repairs nearly complete, his reason for being in Thunderbird Five is at an end. Alan will be going up to replace him so they can even out their rotations."

"Will you come to England with me?" the aristocrat asked. "I know the very best jewelers in London. I am sure I can secure an appointment for you."

"I don't know, Penelope," Tin-Tin said thoughtfully. "I'm not certain what Jeff..." She blushed prettily. "He insists I call him Jeff now. But as I was saying, I don't know what he has planned. I know that the mechanic who has been working on FAB-1, Kenny Malone, needs to return home to California very soon. I'm sure that Mr. Tra... - I mean, Jeff - will schedule everything so that his 'family business' isn't left without enough personnel. But I will mention it to him, and to Alan."

She took a sip of her tea, then leaned forward. "However, there is a favor I would ask of you. A very important one."

"Ask, my dear," Penny replied, smiling. "If there is anything I can do to help make your wedding the most wonderful day of your life, I will do it."

"Then, Penelope, _please_ be my maid of honor?" Tin-Tin asked earnestly. "I can think of no one I would rather have standing beside me on my wedding day."

Penelope's eyes widened yet again, and she put a hand to her open mouth. Then she blinked, swallowed lightly, and reached out to lay a hand on Tin-Tin's forearm. "Dear, dear Tin-Tin. I am honored that you would think of me. Of course! Of course, I will do it." She smiled, then actually tittered a bit. "Oh, but we _must_ let François design the gowns. I have seen far too many society weddings where either the bride, her attendants, or both, have worn the most _hideous_ frocks."

Tin-Tin laughed. "François? Oh my, yes! Only the best for us, right, Father?"

Kyrano sat up straighter and smiled. "Of course. The very best." He raised an eyebrow in teasing challenge. "But if it is a Monsieur Lemaire creation you desire, daughter, perhaps you should ask your future husband to pay for it!"

"Oh, Father!" Tin-Tin said, laughing.

The doors opened quietly behind the retainer, and Parker stepped inside. He cleared his throat.

"Yes, Parker?" Penelope asked, smiling.

"Your bags h'are stored h'in th' jet, Milady. Mick h'is standin' guard."

Penelope put down her teacup and saucer. "Very good, Parker. Please bring the car around. We will be leaving in just a few moments."

"Very good, Milady."

The chauffeur withdrew. Penelope glanced at her guests. "Well, shall we go? I am anxious to get to the island and give Alan my congratulations in person."

As they left the room, Penelope turned to Tin-Tin and said, "I just had a wonderful thought! You could have the wedding at Foxleyheath..."

xxxx

The kitchen was clean, and the vegetables were ready for grilling. Jeff had put in a quick appearance to make sure the meat for the kabobs was in its special marinade. Eleanor shooed him out, telling him that the marinade was one of the things Kyrano had been able to attend to before his departure.

Now the two women were in the second guest room. Lou looked around with interest. "Is this where Lady Penelope stays when she visits?"

"Yes, this is the room she usually occupies," Eleanor said as she opened the curtains. "Since she is here so often, she usually keeps a few changes of clothes on hand. Not very many, though. She usually brings huge trunks full of outfits with her when she comes from Foxleyheath. Dust off the vanity for me, please?"

Lou took a soft rag and wiped it over the edges of the lighted vanity mirror. The cloth came back with very little dust on it. "Does she bring any of her servants along?"

"Just Parker," Eleanor replied as she applied an ostrich feather duster to the vertical blinds. "She doesn't keep many servants other than him."

"Ah." Lou swabbed the cloth over the flat surface of the vanity then passed it along the sides. "Would that be Nosey Parker, the former cracksman?"

"Yes, it is," the old woman said as she continued her dusting. "He's her chauffeur, her butler, her bodyguard and her cohort in IR. He's also quite the rogue. When they visit, he usually takes a spare room downstairs." She stopped and turned to Lou, who saw her in the mirror. "Speaking of taking rooms, Lucinda, Jeff asked me to see if you would rather move up to the villa and have one of the guest rooms here."

Lou straightened and turned to look thoughtfully at Eleanor. "Why?" she asked simply.

"I guess he thought you might be more comfortable up here."

The younger woman gave a little humming sound and looked down, her eyes unfocused. Then she raised her gaze to Eleanor again and, with a small smile, shook her head.

"No, I don't think so, but thank you. It's a very generous offer. I think my cats and I are better off in the Round House, especially since the men went out of their way to build a nice playroom for the cats." She turned back to her work. "Besides, the Round House has no access to the underground complex." Glancing over her shoulder to see Eleanor's puzzled frown, she elaborated, "No chance that my kitties might get down there and become lost or hurt." Chuckling, she added, "Or take an unscheduled ride in a Thunderbird."

Eleanor chuckled, too, and turned back to what she was doing. "Well, I told Jeff I'd sound you out about it."

The two women continued to work, plumping pillows, wiping down surfaces, shining things in the bathroom, doing a last minute floor cleaning. There was very little dust, a testimony to Kyrano's excellent upkeep.

"So, what happens when Lady Penelope is here?" Lou asked as she took the bath towels that Eleanor handed her and draped them on the chrome racks. "Are things more formal? Does everyone dress for dinner?"

"Well, everyone makes an effort to look nice at dinner, yes," Eleanor explained. "And meals won't be served family style. Parker and Kyrano will serve us individually." She chuckled. "I remember the first time those two met. They were excruciatingly polite to each other, but each insisted that _his_ way of doing things was the right way. They ended up spilling a tray full of drinks on the floor. It took a while, but they finally came up with a certain protocol for meals, and Parker was made to realize that Kyrano was lord and master in the kitchen here." She smiled widely. "Unless, of course, I was in there. Then he understood that I was the queen bee."

"I'll have to make sure I dress appropriately, then," Lou said wryly. "And stay out of the kitchen."

"It would be wise." Eleanor took a deep sniff of the air, her nose wrinkling as she frowned. She brought the cloth she was working with to her nose and smelled it, then sniffed deeply again. "Ugh. What is that stink?" She glanced over at Lou. "Do you smell something odd? Something with a hint of... ammonia, perhaps?"

Lou followed Eleanor's example, taking a deep breath through her nose once, then again. Then her puzzled face cleared, and she smiled ruefully at the old woman.

"It's me, I'm afraid," she said apologetically, fingering her red curls. "I, uh, touched up my roots before I came to lunch. They were beginning to show a little."

"Oh! Yes, that's what I smell! Hair color! I should have realized it. Lucy used to color her hair from time to time," Eleanor said, smiling with an understanding look about her. _Hmm. Looks like Lucinda might feel just a wee bit threatened by Penelope. Good. Maybe seeing the two women together might change Jeff's mind about Lucinda. _"Well, let's finish up the cleaning. Then I'll cut some flowers for the room and it will be ready for Lady Penelope."

xxxx

"Thunderbird Five from base. Come in, Thunderbird Five," Jeff called as he opened communications with his son. He waited patiently for John's portrait to go from painted to live, and after a moment, it did.

"Base from Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, Commander," John said crisply, looking alert and well rested.

"I want an update on those situations you outlined for me yesterday."

"F-A-B." John picked up his data pad. "Looks like Mt. Rainier is leaving the vulcanologists guessing. No eruption as of yet but they keep saying it will happen any time now."

"You'd think that vulcanology would have become an exact science by now," Jeff groused. "But it's almost like having a baby. The experts still can't tell you when it's going to happen." He chuckled at John's wry grin, then asked, "What about that undersea colony?"

"They're evacuating," John said, his face turning more serious. "But it seems that WASP and the World Navy are on top of things."

"Keep an ear out for them anyway and let me know when evacuation is complete." Jeff sat down in his chair, updating his notes as he talked with John. "Though it would be awkward if we had to send someone."

"Right," John agreed. "Could be a security headache if anyone recognized Gor... I mean, Omicron." He made a face. "I wish we had secure communications. These code names are a pain in the ass when we're talking like this."

"Son," Jeff began.

John held up a hand. "Don't get me wrong, I can see the need for them, especially out on the field where others are listening. But it's hard to call you 'Commander' when I'd rather be a lot more informal."

"I understand," Jeff replied sympathetically. "That's why I had Rho get back to work on the project. It's a top priority. Just hang in there a little longer, Epsilon. Now," Jeff checked his notes, "what about that lost family at Lake Manyera?"

John's face got angry, then sad. "They found them today. The husband was mauled by a lion and died on the way to the hospital. One of the children was, too. No word on her yet."

"Why didn't they find some shelter?" Jeff asked, his voice showing his frustration. "Climb a tree or something."

"They did, Commander," John said, his voice suddenly flat. "But the lions at Lake Manyera climb trees, too."

Jeff sat back and sighed. "What a waste. If the rangers had called us, we might have saved that family." He shook his head and blew a loud breath out his nose. "Anything else I need to know about?"

John looked at his notes. "Well, the weather satellites have picked up a rare tropical depression in the southern Atlantic. The forecasters are keeping a sharp eye on it because the computer projections show it might just reach hurricane strength before making landfall somewhere on the southern coast of Brazil. And Eugene Solosky is ahead in the US National Scrabble tournament."

The older man frowned. "Solosky? Was Reubens eliminated?"

His son grimaced sympathetically. "Unfortunately, yes. In the third round."

"Damn. I had a bet going with Dandridge on that, too." Jeff shook his head as if to clear it. "Well, keep an eye on that depression. I doubt we'll be needed, but you never know. Those kinds of hurricanes are rare as hen's teeth."

"F-A-B."

"Oh, I did get your email and I think your idea about more firefighting training has merit. I'll do some research and coordinate with Alpha on scheduling. It'll have to wait for a couple of weeks. There'll be a lot of comings and goings in the near future."

"Yeah, I see that Zeta is visiting the Pink Lady right now. Will they be coming back together?"

"Yes, they're supposed to be here early this evening. Pink Lady has made her decision and wants to tell me in person."

John grinned. "I bet she stays. As difficult as that last mission was for her, I can't see her just sitting around doing nothing. Or even giving herself to charitable works. It's not her style."

"I hope you're right," Jeff said, smiling a little. "I don't know what we'd do without her."

xxxx

"Do I or don't I?" Gordon paced up and down before his computer. "I have her email address. I know she's interested. But how much of a risk am I taking? Would I be causing a security breach? Dad's not sure, and neither is Lou."

Suddenly he stopped in his tracks. "Oh, what the hell. She's interested, I'm interested... let the chips fall where they may."

With that, he sat down before his keyboard. He stretched his arms out before him, linking his fingers together and turning his hands palms outward, cracking his knuckles in the bargain. Pulling up the email he had received from Maggie Palaia, he copied the address from Rachel's attached missive, pasted it into a new email form, and began to write.

_Dear Miss Clarendon,_

_Pardon me for not fully introducing myself when we met a few weeks ago in that Portland hospital. My name is Gordon Cooper **Tracy**, and I understand you've been doing some research on me..._

xxxx

"There's Ladybird," Scott said to his father, looking up at the red plane, which flew overhead. Jeff glanced up from his position at the deluxe professional grill. He was wearing a tough apron of heat-resistant canvas over his clothes as he prepared the equipment for use. Though the grill had been originally set up for propane, Brains had devised an offshoot of oxyhydnite to fuel it so they didn't have to run to the mainland for fresh gas tanks.

"Go inside and give Tin-Tin landing clearance please, son. Then nudge Alan, and remind him to take an antigravity float down with him to the hangars," Jeff instructed. "I'm sure he'll want to be the one to greet his fiancée... and our guests."

"Right. On my way."

Scott tapped Alan - who was helping Virgil - on the shoulder, and said something to him quietly. Alan straightened, his handsome face lighting up, then the two young men headed into the house, the younger entering the lower level to catch the monorail to the hangars and the elder mounting the curved stairway to the lounge and the radio.

"I see your guests have arrived."

Jeff glanced up from his work to see Lou approach, and he smiled. She was wearing a simple dress of royal blue georgette with a tiered hem that swished flirtingly around her knees and a long matching jacket. A necklace of turquoise and silver beads with matching earrings, plus a pair of low-heeled black pumps, finished her ensemble.

"My, you look lovely this evening," he said admiringly. He gestured to the grill. "Better keep your distance once I've started cooking. Don't want that pretty dress spattered."

"Right," she agreed, reaching up to push a curl behind her ear. The charms on one of her silver bracelets jangled slightly as they were exposed by the motion. She moistened her painted lips with her tongue, looking off toward the house, then took a deep breath and favored Jeff with a smile.

"I wasn't certain what to wear," she explained. "Your mother said that when Lady Penelope was here it was _de rigeur _to dress up a bit more for dinner..." She motioned to the dress. "I'm not usually a skirt and dress kind of gal, but this seemed to be appropriate..." Her voice trailed off and she shrugged.

"I certainly like it," Jeff said encouragingly. He checked over his utensils, making sure he had everything he needed, then glanced up, cocking his head at her. "Are you okay?"

She shrugged again, her smile faltering a bit. "Yeah, I guess so. Just feeling a little... oh, I don't know..."

Before Jeff could say anything, Scott came down the steps, bounding up to his father. "Tin-Tin's coming in for a landing."

The buzz of the red jet drew the attention of everyone around the pool as it came in low across the water, aiming for the short airstrip. It settled on the tarmac smoothly, slowed, then disappeared from sight as the cliff edge obscured their view.

Jeff turned his gaze back to Lou, only to find she had drifted off to one of the small tables that Virgil had already prepared. He glanced at Scott, saying, "I'll be right back," then crossed over to where she stood, smelling the exotic blooms that Virgil had appropriated to decorate the tables.

"Okay, lady. What's up?" he asked bluntly, putting a hand on her shoulder and turning her slightly toward him.

She wouldn't meet his gaze, but instead kept her eyes on the flower she had picked up. "I guess I'm feeling... out of place here."

"Out of place?" he repeated, frowning slightly. "Explain."

Placing the flower back in the cut crystal vase, she said, "Well, maybe 'out of place' doesn't exactly cover it. But all this," she waved a hand to indicate the pool, the house, the island, "it's all so... gorgeous. You're used to the very best, the most beautiful surroundings, the most elegant..."

Jeff cut in. "This isn't about 'all this', is it?"

Lou shot him an irritated look. "You've got a bad habit of interrupting people, do you know that?"

"Yes, I know. It's one of my endearing qualities," he retorted in the same tone. Then he took a deep breath, let it out his nose, and softened his voice. "This is about Penelope, isn't it?"

She stood still for a few moments, then sighed. "Yes, I suppose it is." Shrugging, she said, "She's a beautiful woman, a model, an aristocrat. I remember when I first met her how elegant and mature she seemed. I was surprised to find out she was only in her late twenties." Gazing off to where the setting sun's rays still painted the clouds shades of peach and lavender, she added, "I know I'm no crone, but I'm not model material either." She glanced up at him. "Most people would say you're crazy for not pursuing someone like her."

Jeff considered her for a long moment, gazing into her face, then spread out his hands. "Okay, I'm crazy. So sue me."

Lou burst out laughing, and Jeff continued. "Remind me sometime to itemize for you the reasons why I'm not pursuing a romance with Penelope. Preferably when I'm sober. I'd tell you now but I see that the grill is ready for me and I know my guests will be coming out to join us very soon."

He glanced around quickly and, seeing his sons seemingly occupied elsewhere, he kissed her quickly on the cheek. She glanced up at him, startled, then smiled.

"You just be your friendly, outgoing self and you'll be fine," he murmured to her, squeezing her shoulder.

She nodded, and reached up to cover his hand with hers. "I will."

"I'd better get over to the grill and start cooking," he said with a smile. She gave him a small wave as he turned and headed for the grill.

As Jeff pulled the marinated meat from the cooler and began to assemble the kabobs, Scott muttered to himself, "Looks like this isn't the only thing you've got cooking tonight, Dad."

xxxx

The work day in Bangkok was over and the branch manager of the Krung Thai bank was tending to the details of locking up and setting the security systems for the night. He kept glancing out of his office windows at the building across the street, wondering when the implosion would occur. The twenty-five story former hotel was slated for demolition, making way for a taller, newer hotel, one with more amenities and a higher class of clientele... or so he hoped.

The demolition crew had been at work for weeks, removing non-load bearing walls, choosing which supports would be the first to go, planting the explosives, and planning the timing of the blast that would collapse the building into its own "footprint". The businesses in the area had been warned about the upcoming implosion and what to expect from it. They had been assured that the blast would occur after business hours and that there would be no damage to the surrounding structures beyond a possible broken window or two.

Looking out, he could see that the other shops were closed or closing, that the traffic volume was almost nil. The police, he knew, had set up roadblocks to stop cars, buses, and people from entering the area around the planned implosion. Even the Metro and the Skytrain, so recently changed from railway to monorail, were being momentarily stopped to avoid potential problems.

He left his office, calling to his administrative assistant, who stood at the front windows, watching the old hotel. "Come, Miss Piam. We are almost finished."

"Yes, Mr. Banyat." The middle-aged woman moved away from the windows, and the bank manager turned toward the head teller, who had a data pad ready with the accounting of the day. That's when they heard a loud alarm siren sounding and, immediately following it, a rapid fire series of even louder booms. All three heads whipped around to see the building across the street moving, falling, but not in the way the demolition company had touted it would.

"It is falling this way!" screamed the assistant, who stood immobile, unable to turn her horrified gaze away.

The building's base had crumpled and the lowest floors nearest the bank disappeared in a huge cloud of ashen dust. There was a loud roaring, like that of violent waves, a cracking noise accompanied by a deep, inhuman moaning as cement shattered and rebar stretched, thinning to the point of snapping. Chunks of debris began to fall on the bank, crashing through the roof of the story above, the smashing sound of what should have been shatterproof glass heralding the imminent arrival of the behemoth that was the old hotel.

The manager didn't wait to appreciate the experience. He lunged forward and grabbed his assistant by the wrist, yanking her along. He stiff-armed the head teller, shoving her before him, shouting, "Into the vault!" The two women, shaken from their paralysis, ran with him into the small, reinforced area, moving quickly past him as he grabbed the handles of the door and yanked it firmly shut behind them. The roar without became deafening and the vault shook as if in an earthquake. Small chunks of concrete fell from the ceiling, and a fine dust could be briefly seen filtering down from the upper story before the lights went out.

It was a long time before Banyat took his arms down from around his head. He found himself lying on the floor of the vault, his legs uncomfortably twisted. He coughed, his throat dry. At first there seemed to be silence around him, but as his hearing slowly returned he could make out the labored creaking of the smashed building around the vault and the panicked whimpers of the head teller. There was no sound from his assistant.

"Miss Piam?" he said softly. "Miss Hansa?" The head teller's whimpers grew in volume.

"Calm yourself, Miss Hansa," he said, trying to soothe the woman. "Where is Miss Piam?"

"I - I don't know," the teller said, gasping, her voice tight with fear.

"Well, let's find out."

He reached for his pocket, where his satellite phone resided, and felt a sudden, sharp pain in his hip as he did so. It was all that he could do to keep from screaming, and instead let go with a stifled moan. Fumbling with the instrument, he opened it up and a blue glow illuminated their surroundings. Moving the phone around in his hand, he and his companion could see chunks of cement and bills of various denominations littering the floor. The walls of the vault had bowed outward a bit as it took, and held, the weight of both the floor above it and the top of the building that had fallen. The pale face of the head teller looked back at him, her tears leaving streaks through the dust on her face, blood from her nose smeared across her cheek. And lying beneath a layer of debris just a meter or two away was the motionless form of his assistant.

"Miss Piam!" he called again. There was no reply. He tried to move, but found it to be impossible without suffering agonizing pain. _Something must be broken, _he concluded. He reached out with the phone as far as he could.

"Here, Miss Hansa. Take my phone. Use its light to see if Miss Piam is still breathing."

The teller looked at him, horror in her eyes. "What... what if she is dead?" She pulled away from him, drawing her arms in toward her chest. "I... I couldn't bear to touch her if she were dead."

"Miss Hansa," the bank manager said firmly. "I would check her myself, but... I have broken something and cannot move. You can. Please. We must know if she is alive - or not." He sighed and stifled another groan. "Even if she is dead, she will not be cold, not yet." Lifting his eyes to hers, he sighed. "Please."

She hesitated for a moment, then reached out quickly and took the phone. "All... all right."

She moved herself awkwardly toward the fallen figure, reaching out with a trembling hand to touch the prostrate woman on the neck. He watched her carefully press on the carotid artery, wait a moment or two, then slump a little, letting out a deep, relieved sigh. She turned to her employer. "She's alive."

He nodded, also relieved. "Good. Very good." He gave her a small smile. "Now, Miss Hansa, to get us out of here."

"How?" she said, her voice rising into a wail. "The... the building fell on us."

He gestured with his hand for the phone. "We must tell the people outside that we are here. They will be able to pull us out."

She handed the device back to him, and he began to dial the emergency services number, hoping against hope that those without would be able to free them from the vault - before the air ran out or the ceiling fell in.


	16. Mr Thunderbird, where are you?

_Author's Note:_ Dinner al fresco. Lou and Penelope meet. Penny and Jeff speak. The rescue begins. Rachel gets an email. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

_Special Note:_ The prototype of the Mole comes from my story, _Father's Day_. More description of it next chapter.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

It was late, and Penelope stood on the balcony, cigarette holder in hand, lightly blowing a cloud of smoke into the cool, clear air. She was waiting for Jeff to return from escorting his other guest back to her quarters. 

_How long does it take to drive a little cart to and from the Round House? _she wondered. Discovering that Jeff hadn't been quite frank with her during their last, emotional confrontation left a bad taste in her mouth, one that had nothing to do with the meal or her current cigarette. She wrapped her free arm around herself, thinking back on the evening's meal and her meeting with her rival.

It had taken an hour from her arrival at Tracy Island for Penelope to feel freshened up enough to put in an appearance. Parker was at the pool before her, helping Kyrano and the boys by bringing salad and other side dishes from the kitchen. She stood for a moment at the edge of the flagstone patio around the pool, gazing around at the decorated tables. She caught Jeff's eye, and he turned to smile at her, waving a pair of stainless steel tongs in her direction.

"It's good to see you, Penny!" he called cheerfully.

"And to see you again, Jeff," she replied, giving him a smile and a slight wave. She didn't cross to him; he was still at the grill and she had no desire to soil her tailored linen dress. Instead, she turned and moved toward Eleanor.

"Lady Penelope! I'm so happy to see you again." The old woman clasped both of Penny's hands in her wrinkled ones.

"And I am glad to see you, too, Mrs. Tracy," Penny replied, leaning over to give Eleanor a peck on each cheek.

"You have heard Tin-Tin and Alan's news?" Eleanor asked.

"Oh yes! Tin-Tin told me all about it before we left Bongo-Bongo!" The aristocrat almost gushed in her very real excitement for her friend. "She has even asked me to be part of the wedding party! I have, of course, congratulated Alan as well for being smart enough to accept Tin-Tin's proposal." She turned slightly to see the stranger sitting alone at one of the small tables, then back to her hostess. "You must be very excited to have one of your grandsons marrying at last!"

"Yes, I am." Eleanor had not missed Penelope's glance, and now drew her over to where Lou sat, sipping a glass of wine.

"Penelope, I'd like to introduce you to an old friend of Lucille's, Lucinda Myles. Lucinda, this is Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward."

Penelope reached out and the two women shook hands. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Myles," she said politely, all the time looking the older woman up and down, cataloging and appraising the newcomer's clothes and manner.

"Nice to see you again, your Ladyship," the newcomer replied with a small smile, returning the scrutiny. "Please, join me, both of you," She indicated the other chairs at the table with a hand.

"Thank you," Penelope said. Parker, who was keeping an eye on his employer, came over and pulled out the chairs for the ladies, first for Eleanor, then for his employer. The aristocrat sat down gracefully, regarding the redhead with a puzzled expression. "I am sorry, but have we met before?"

"Yes, we have," was the reply. The older woman took a sip of her wine, and put down her goblet. "It was about five years ago, in Toronto. A joint investigation between the Federal Agents Bureau and Interpol. I was part of the Interpol surveillance team."

"Oh." Penelope's brows came together in a little frown. "I remember the investigation, but not the red hair..."

The stranger's eyes rolled up toward her hair, and a hand reached to touch the curls. "Ah, yes. My hair wasn't red or curly then. I was a brunette..."

There was a brief flash of memory: a team of smartly dressed agents sitting in a conference room during a briefing, two of them her own colleagues, six of them from Interpol. Of those six, four were men and two women, one younger - and black - the other... "Of course. Now I remember." Penelope's face cleared. "The older woman."

Lou chuckled. "Yes, I was the older woman."

The meal was good, even though eating outside was not one of Penelope's favorite things to do. Jeff joined the three women when he felt he had grilled enough food for the party. Eleanor began to gush over the aristocrat's home, her car, her yacht, and her friends among the rich and famous. At first, this puzzled Penny; she had been very much aware of Eleanor's ambivalence toward her relationship with Jeff.

But, as Penelope watched the subtleties of Jeff's interaction with Lucinda, she understood. Eleanor wasn't so much pressing Penny's case as contrasting the differences between the two women, making comparisons that showed the American in a poorer light. Jeff was having none of it, though.

"Enough, Mother," he said evenly. "You're embarrassing Penny."

Eventually, the aristocrat came to the heart-sinking conclusion that there was more to this older woman's relationship with her host than just a friendship with his late wife.

She fingered the stem of her wine glass, and took a sip before fixing her gaze on Lucinda. "Ms. Myles? Correct me if I am in error, but are you the friend of Jeff's who was attacked in her home a few weeks ago?"

"Yes, I am." Lucinda shot Jeff a quick glance and a raised eyebrow, then turned back to Penelope with a smile. "And please, your Ladyship, most everyone here calls me Lou. Ms. Myles reminds me too much of my ex-husband."

"It must have been a frightening ordeal," Penny said in a sympathetic tone, not responding to Lucinda's offer of informality. "How comforting it must have been to have Jeff so close at hand."

"It _was_ frightening, more so because Jeff was involved, and threatened," Lou replied, nodding, her facebecoming more serious. "If anything had happened to him, I would never have forgiven myself." She smiled slightly. "But, yes, he was a comfort afterwards."

There was silence at the table for an uncomfortable moment, one that the approaching Parker broke. "More wine, milady? Madam? Sir?"

Eleanor declined, as did Jeff. Both Penny and Lou asked for refills, and while Parker was pouring out, Lou smiled at him and asked, "Mr. Parker? I heard that you were the one to modify the termite I provided and that you infiltrated one of the anti-IR websites with it. Is this so?"

Parker started, then nodded. "Yus, mum. Ay was."

Lou's smile widened to a grin. "Sir, you are my hero! What you did to that site was magnificent! I couldn't stop laughing at the little cops and robbers marching back and forth across the screen!"

"Thank you, mum. The cops an' robbers bit was h'a h'inspiration, h'if Ay do say so mayself." Parker actually blushed. "An' Ay was h'able t' h'infect the termayte, h'as requested. That site won't be troublin' h'us h'anymore."

"After you got through with it, most certainly not!" Lou raised her glass to him. "You did a wonderful job!"

"T'was may pleasure, mum," he replied, bobbing his head and smiling.

"That will be all, Parker," Penelope said coolly. "You may continue serving the others."

"Yus, milady." The butler bowed, and left the small group, stopping by the other tables to offer refills on wine or soft drinks.

Eventually, the sun set, dessert was consumed, and the dinner party broke up. Goodnights were said, then Jeff excused himself, telling Penelope and his mother that he wanted to drive Lou back to the Round House.

"I would like to speak with you when you return," Penny had told him. He had nodded, then left to fulfill his obligation as host.

She let out another puff of smoke, and sighed.

"You could have told me there was another woman," she stated, not turning around.

Jeff paused, then moved to a position beside her and rested his forearms on the rail of the balcony. He hadn't tried to mask his approach, but he didn't think that Penny had heard him come up behind her.

"I didn't realize that she was a factor until after we spoke," he said, gazing out over the pool and to the sea beyond. He turned his head toward her and frowned slightly as she took another draught from her cigarette holder. "I didn't know that you'd started smoking again."

Penelope took the hint: his relationship with Ms. Myles was not something he wanted to discuss. "I had not planned to do so, but Mr. Southern smokes a pipe with a very fragrant tobacco. It was quite tempting. And now that I have resumed the practice, I realize how much I missed it."

"Hmm." They stood quietly for a few moments, then he asked, "You wanted to speak with me?"

Penny turned to him with a thin smile. "Yes. I wanted to give you my answer. Regardless of what has passed between us, I wish to remain with International Rescue as a full-fledged agent."

Jeff nodded, then asked, "And Parker?"

"He, too, is staying. It is his own decision to do so."

Jeff let out a relieved sigh, smiled widely and stood to face her. "I am so glad you're staying, Penny. We really need you and your skills."

"I am gratified to know that," she replied. She gave him a searching look. "I am curious; will Ms. Myles be recruited as an agent?"

"I've already asked her and she has accepted," Jeff told her. He spoke more carefully, adding, "I think you'll find that her skills and yours are different in many ways. I feel you will complement each other if you have opportunity to work together."

"Perhaps," Penny said softly.

The emergency alarm cut off any further conversation. Jeff turned without another word and hurried back into the lounge, headed for his desk. Penelope snuffed out her cigarette and followed. The Tracy sons, Brains and Tin-Tin filtered in quickly, one or two at a time. Kenny, too, put in an appearance, just as Jeff opened communications with John in Thunderbird Five.

"Base here, Thunderbird Five," Jeff said crisply as he sat down. "What do you have for us?"

"A tricky one, Commander," John said, his face grim. He checked his data pad. "Three people are trapped in a bank vault in Bangkok. A building slated for demolition fell on the bank. They managed to call emergency services who immediately put in a call for us."

"Any idea why the building fell the way it did?" Scott asked, frowning.

John shook his head. "The demolition team is looking into it. They've called in their debris moving equipment, but that won't get them anywhere near the vault in time. And...," he paused and checked his data pad to make sure of his facts, "there may still be some live explosives in the debris."

Jeff took in a deep breath and let it out again. "Right. Epsilon, get back to Bangkok authorities. Tell them we're on our way and give them an ETA."

"F-A-B," John said with a nod. "Thunderbird Five out."

His picture went motionless, and Jeff nodded to Scott. "On your way, Scott."

"F-A-B." The oldest Tracy son stepped over to the light sconces and disappeared behind the wall.

"Mr. T-Tracy," Brains said, putting up a hand. "It might be w-wise to approach this problem from, uh, beneath the vault."

"Good idea, Brains. Virgil, take pod three with the Mole," Jeff commanded.

"Jeff?" Penelope strode toward the desk. "Parker may be able to shed some light on the subject of bank vaults. It is... or was... his specialty."

"Excellent thought, Penny. Get Parker up here for me, please. And Tin-Tin? Give Lou a call," Jeff ordered. " We may need her expertise, too."

"Of course, Jeff," Penelope said graciously. She touched a gem on the watch that she wore before moving to a seat close to the desk.

"Yes, sir," Tin-Tin said. She moved behind the desk, and pushed the intercom button that connected her with the Round House, calling for Lou. Jeff turned his attention to Parker, who had just entered, wearing shirtsleeves, his collar open. Jeff gave him the problem, and the former cracksman nodded.

"H'A branch bank, ye say?" Parker asked. "Blimey. That's not goin' to be much bigger than the main pantry in yer kitchen. Not like th' Bank o' h'England. They wouldn't carry too much h'in th' way o' notes now."

"Parker is quite correct," Penelope said. "A branch vault would have more safe deposit boxes and physical files as opposed to currency lockers."

"Yeah," Virgil added, frowning. "And at the size that Parker's talking about, a device as big as the Mole would make hash out of the victims just drilling a hole in the floor."

Brains spoke up again. "Then m-may I suggest we bring the, uh, prototype along? Its size would make it, uh, easier to a-a-access the space with less, uh, trouble."

"Good thinking, Brains," Jeff said, nodding. "Virgil, make sure it gets loaded aboard with the Mole." He motioned to Virgil. "On your way."

"F-A-B, Father." Thunderbird Two's pilot placed his back against the rocket painting and it tipped him up and out of sight.

Jeff turned to the remaining people in the room. "Gordon, Alan, I want you to double crew on this. Brains, you're going, too. I expect you to figure out the best possible route to get into that vault."

"F-A-B, Father." Gordon said firmly, turning and heading for the study.

"F-A-B," Brains replied. He stood and walked briskly in Gordon's wake. Alan, however, hung back. He glanced over at Tin-Tin, and at Kenny, then straightened his shoulders to face his father.

"What about the flight to L.A. tomorrow?" he asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

"We'll work it out," Jeff replied irritably. "Now, on your way."

Alan nodded reluctantly, took a moment to kiss his fiancée, and hurried off to catch up with the rest of the team.

Xxxx

"What did they say?"

Banyat pressed the button on his cell phone and sighed. "They have called International Rescue, Miss Hansa," he said wearily. He shifted a bit; the bits of debris he lay on were uncomfortable, and he was barely able to stifle a moan as the movement brought a fresh, sharp pain shooting through his hip.

"Then, we'll be rescued soon!" Miss Hansa cried, her voice indicating that she was on the knife's edge of hysteria.

Banyat sighed again. He knew he was getting sleepy, and he felt cold despite the heat that was building in the tiny space. "It will still take some time, Miss Hansa. They will have to fly here from wherever they are, and set up their equipment. I am not certain that even they can shift the amount of debris above us in time."

"Then... then... what can we do?" she wailed.

"Hush! Hush!" he said with a groan. "We must be quiet and brave..."

His instructions were cut off by a surprising sound: the ringing of his phone. He looked at the instrument in his hand as if he didn't recognize it, then he shook his head quickly, and pressed the respond button.

"Hello," he said in his native tongue.

"Hello! This is International Rescue!" came a clear, young voice. "Do you speak English?"

"Y-Yes." Banyat switched over to the secondary tongue. He glanced over at Miss Hansa, whose eyes were big in the feeble light of the phone. "I speak English." He pulled the phone away from his face and told his companion, "It is International Rescue."

Miss Hansa sat back, relieved. If the famous Thunderbirds were on the phone to them, then salvation must be near at hand.

xxxx

Thunderbird One roared up and into the night, past the lounge, the light pouring from the windows outlining it briefly. Lou, clad in jeans and t-shirt and with bare feet in her sneakers, stopped her jog toward the villa. She stood staring up in amazement at the lead Thunderbird's contrail, silvered by the light of the moon. She arrived at the pool just in time to see it finish closing. Hearing the grinding of rock and the hum of machinery, she made her way quickly to the far edge of the patio, where she could best see the airstrip below.

She waited and watched for a few moments before anything happened. The palm trees fell back, eliciting first a gasp, then a chuckle from her. Thunderbird Two trundled out from beneath the cliff. She could hear it rolling down the tarmac long before she could see it. It stopped near the end of the runway. From her vantage point, she heard rather than saw the launch pad rise up from the ground, that is, until the cargo carrier was fully in place. Then she could clearly make out that the green craft was at an angle. The blast shield flipped up, and the engines fired brightly, silhouetting the shield's rectangular shape. Sparks flew from the exhaust as if from an arc welder. Thunderbird Two rose ponderously into the air, gaining speed and altitude quickly, the bright flame of its engines cutting out as it got farther and farther away. Lou blew out a breath of amazement. Then she turned back toward the villa and made her way quickly up to the lounge.

"You rang?" she asked as she entered, drawing the attention of the room's occupants.

Jeff looked up from his computer, startled by her question. "Yes." He frowned a bit as he glanced at his watch. "What took you so long?" he snapped.

Lou stopped on the middle step and blinked. "Oh. I'm sorry. I took the time to watch Thunderbirds One and Two launch." She smiled as she finished her descent. "It's quite an awe-inspiring sight."

Jeff's frown eased slightly. "Ah. I see. Yes, it is, isn't it? Never fails to move me, no matter how often I see it. Of course, I don't see Two launch as often as One." He turned his attention back to the data coming in to his computer. "In any case, I thought you might help us out with this latest rescue."

"Sure," she replied as she approached the desk. "Your Ladyship." She inclined her head towards Penelope, who politely returned the acknowledgment.

"I remember my own response when I was first introduced to the Thunderbirds," Penny said, a wistful smile on her face. "Everything you have developed here is terribly well-organized and extraordinary, Jeff. Most impressive."

Jeff was about to reply when John's portrait flashed for attention. Leaning over, he activated communications and said, "Base here, Thunderbird Five. What do you have, Epsilon?"

"I've been able to reach the people inside the vault," John said. "There are three. One is unconscious, one is injured, and the third is nearly hysterical."

Jeff shook his head. "Doesn't sound like a good situation. Thunderbirds One and Two are already on the way. Alpha's ETA is twenty minutes now. Stay with them, Epsilon. Keep talking to them."

"F-A-B. I'll do my best," John said. "Thunderbird Five out."

xxxx

Miss Hansa wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth. The voice from the phone kept calling, "Mr. Banyat? Mr. Banyat?"

She whimpered. A few moments before, Mr. Banyat had let out a soft moan, and stopped moving. She didn't dare approach him; she couldn't bear to touch him if he were dead.

"Miss Hansa?" came the encouraging voice again, this time calling her name. "Miss Hansa? Are you all right?"

Licking her dry lips, she took a shaky breath and replied. "I... I am frightened."

A soft sigh came from the phone. "I'm glad to hear your voice, Miss Hansa. I thought that perhaps the phone batteries had run down. Now, what has happened to Mr. Banyat?"

A sob caught in her throat and came out as another whimper. She blinked away the tears that trailed down her dusty cheeks and, after mustering her courage, replied in a small, teary voice. "I do not know."

"Is he breathing? Can you tell?"

Miss Hansa shook her head, forgetting that the young man who was talking to her couldn't see her mute answer.

"Miss Hansa?" John was getting concerned. He had been able to hear the pain in the man's voice as they spoke, and the barely constrained fear in the woman's, especially as time went on and no one had yet come. Now he had only the woman to deal with, and he hoped to heaven that his calm voice could keep her calm as well.

"Miss Hansa? Please talk to me."

"O-Oh," she said, a little startled. "I-I'm sorry."

"It is all right, Miss Hansa. Just stay with me."

"I-I will try."

John sighed. Now to convince the woman to check on Mr. Banyat's condition.

xxxx

Scott landed in Bangkok a mere 24 minutes after launching. He knew that Virgil was still a good 45 minutes behind him, carrying the essential equipment they'd need for this rescue.

"What's their status, Epsilon?" he asked quietly into his boom mike as he unloaded Mobile Control.

"From what I can ascertain, Mr. Banyat has passed out. That leaves the nearly hysterical woman, Miss Hansa. I can talk to her and try to keep her calm, but since there's not much air in there, I'm doing most of the talking." He sighed. "What's worse, pretty soon the battery on the satellite phone will give out." Shaking his head, John said solemnly, "I don't think we're going to pull this one off."

"We have to try," Scott reminded him as he set up the Mobile Control center. "See if Delta can squeeze a little more out of that 'Bird of his." He looked up to see a small group of men and women approaching. "Here comes the welcoming committee. I'd better find out the latest on this end, and get some more details about the area. Mobile Control, on standby."

xxxx

"We should name it."

Alan gave his brother a strange look. "Name what?"

"The prototype," Gordon said as he lay on his back inside the vehicle - a much smaller version of the Mole - preparing it for use. "I mean, all of our other equipment have names: the Mole, the Firefly, the Remote Controlled Elevator Cars. So, this one should, too." He grinned at Alan. "Besides, it sounds weird to call whoever is in here and say, 'Thunderbird Two to prototype'." He tested the battery reserves and made sure the air tanks were full. "It just doesn't have that... ring to it."

Alan rolled his eyes as he tested the prototype's trolley. "Only you, Gordon. Be careful, I'm testing the launch ramp." He stood back and thumbed a button on a remote control, activating the trolley's lift to bring the sleek, one-man digging machine to a proper launch angle. "Okay, then. Suppose you do name it? What would you call it? You can't use the Mole."

"No, but it is the first working model of the Mole. Tell me how the tracks are doing," Gordon argued as he activated the tracks that would grip the dirt and help move the machine forward or backwards. "So, you could say that it's a... a... proto-Mole."

"Proto-Mole?" Alan echoed, making a disbelieving face. "Now that _really_ doesn't have a 'ring' to it. And the tracks are working okay – maybe a bit fast."

"Thanks." Gordon looked thoughtful. "Hmm. You're right, proto-Mole doesn't cut it."

"I'm testing the caterpillar tracks now; thought I should warn you," Alan said. He used the remote again, and the trolley lumbered forward a meter or two, then back. "Since it's really a miniature Mole, how about Mini-Mole?" he suggested.

Gordon shook his head, even though Alan couldn't see him. "Uh-uh. Sounds like it's a vintage car or something."

The two men fell quiet, continuing their testing of this rarely used piece of equipment, when Gordon snapped his fingers.

"I've got it!" he cried. He sat up and grinned over the edge of the hatch at his brother. "The Micro-Mole!"

Alan shot him another incredulous look. "And how, exactly, does that differ from 'Mini-Mole'?"

"It's snazzier," Gordon replied confidently. He patted the unpainted cahelium surface. "I hereby christen thee, the Micro-Mole."

Suddenly, Virgil's voice sounded in their earpieces. "Better get up here. We land in six minutes."

"F-A-B," Alan replied, speaking for them both. He put the remote in its slot on the Micro-Mole's trolley. "Let's go."

Gordon nodded. He climbed out of the newly christened machine, and the two of them headed for the door that connected the pod and the chassis.

xxxx

"Miss Hansa?"

The head teller stirred at the sound, breaking the oppressive silence with a small moan. John heard it, and blew out a relieved breath. He'd had to increase the gain and reroute his signal several times in the past hour. The increase was to make sure he could still hear and be heard, and the rerouting was to keep anyone who might be trying to trace the signal guessing.

"Not much longer now, Miss Hansa," he said in an encouraging voice. "Thunderbird Two has arrived. Now, did you move Miss Piam and yourself over to where Mr. Banyat is lying?"

There was a long wait, and John was afraid that the battery on the satellite phone had finally given out. But as he listened intently, he heard a barely audible, "Yes."

"Good! Very good! You just rest now. It won't be much longer until we get to you."

Outside, at Mobile Control, Scott was conferring with his team.

"Omicron, you're going to take the prototype..."

"Micro-Mole," Gordon corrected.

Scott rolled his eyes. "All right. The Micro-Mole. You'll take it along the course that Rho has plotted for you. It should bring you into the vault at an angle that won't hit the victims. But use your thermal imager to be sure!" Scott paused and checked his data pad. "Fortunately, this vault is a bit bigger than the average fifteen square meters. You should be able to get the... Micro-Mole into the vault far enough to open the hatch. Distribute the air tanks and masks, check the vitals on the victims, and leave the communicator and the light. Explain, if you can, that you can't take them with you, but that someone will be along shortly to help. Then back out, and head back here. You won't be able to use all of your first tunnel - the Mole will be following your route - but Rho has a return trip plotted for you. Now, get moving."

"F-A-B," Gordon said, nodding. He trotted over to the Micro-Mole to gather his equipment while Scott outlined the rest of his plan.

"Delta, you, Rho, and Sigma will take the Mole to this position. Stop, pull back about ten to fifteen meters, then forward about half that distance. This should leave you a space big enough to work in. At the far end, will be the part of the Micro-Mole's tunnel leading up to the vault. You'll have to dig the end out a bit, but it shouldn't be too hard. One of you can set up some lights in your cavern, while the other two will climb up into the vault from there and extricate the victims."

"F-A-B," Virgil said firmly. "We'll figure out who's doing what en route."

"It's a-a good thing Bangkok's having its, uh, dry season," Brains commented. "We might not have been, uh, able to d-do this in the wet."

"Right," Scott replied. "Sigma, move the Micro-Mole into position. Let's roll."

xxxx

"Nnnngh," Rachel groaned as she stretched. "Man, I've still got a lot of homework to do." She sighed as she sat back down before her computer. "Time for a break. I'll check my email."

She first checked her usual addresses, the ones her friends and family had. There were a few notes there, and she read them with interest, highlighting those she planned on responding to. Then she opened the inbox for her university email, and quickly glanced over the senders' addresses. There were the usual reminders about upcoming campus-wide events, an email or two from her professors, and a couple from classmates, mostly on coursework related matters.

But the address on the second to last new message caught her eye as being unfamiliar. She frowned, murmuring, "GCTrac004 at hqtracyind... oh my God! Could it be?"

She opened the email quickly, scanned down it, her smile widening as she did. Then she huffed out a breath, and went back to read the missive again, more slowly this time.

_Dear Miss Clarendon,_

_Pardon me for not fully introducing myself when we met a few weeks ago in that Portland hospital. My name is Gordon Cooper **Tracy**, and I understand you've been doing some research on me. My good friend, Professor Palaia, forwarded your message and email address. I hope I'm not being presumptuous in writing to you, but your aunt tells me you're quite the detective, and I felt that such dogged determination should be rewarded._

_So, you have discovered my full name, and you probably have figured out that I'm related to the Jeff Tracy you recently met at your aunt's house. I'm sure you're wondering why I didn't use my full name when we first met. Since your aunt also vouches for your discretion, I feel I can tell you that, simply put, I didn't want people to know that I was involved in your mother's rescue. It would have focused a harsh media spotlight on my rather reclusive family, in particular my father, and I would have been asked a lot of uncomfortable questions involving both your mother's kidnapper and your aunt's apparent disappearance. I hope that I can trust you to continue to keep my involvement in the matter quiet._

_Enough about me, now what about you? I have it on good authority that you are studying marine biology. What made you decide on that as a major? What do you like most about the subject? Do you have any specific plans for when you graduate? Have you gained any diving experience yet? Sailing experience? The sea is my most favorite of subjects; I served in the Submarine Service and with WASP, and - as Professor Palaia mentioned - spent a year at the experimental sea colony off New Zealand. That's where the picture you found came from. I'm known as the one seafarer in a family of fly boys, speed demons, and rocket jockeys; it certainly makes my life interesting._

_There I go, talking about myself again. You must think me very conceited! Sometimes it's hard to keep from leaving that impression. But I am genuinely intrigued by a woman who would email a stranger to find out more about a person she's barely acquainted with, and whose picture she saw in a textbook. By the way, how is that paper on kelp farming coming along? I'd be glad to give you the benefit of my experience there._

_Your aunt is well and keeping busy. So are her cats, I hear. Please write back as soon as your schedule allows. I'm sure you will be discreet about this letter as well._

_I hope to hear from you soon._

_Your mysterious kelp farmer,_

_Gordon C. Tracy_

Rachel sat back, laughed, and shook her head. "I can't believe he wrote me!"

xxxx

Miss Hansa sat half awake in the warm, stuffy darkness, cradling the satellite phone in her hands. Its dim light outlined her fingers, and the dusty lines of her palms. She hadn't heard from the International Rescue man since he'd told her to rest, and she wasn't sure how long ago that was. But somehow, she felt the need to hear his voice again, to hear something other than the groan of the shifting, settling rubble or the whistling breath of Mr. Banyat, who lay beside her.

"Please," she whispered in English. "Please. Where are you? Mr. Thunderbird, where are you?"

There was no answer. The batteries of the phone were dying, and as she watched, the light slowly diminished, making her hands look less and less real. The darkness pressed in like some thick, smothering blanket, and at last the tiny glow faded.

"Please, no," she whimpered, this time in her native Thai as she felt herself swallowed up by the surrounding blackness.


	17. One can only hope

_Author's Note:_ The rescue continues, with various points-of-view. Melissa calls Scott. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

Gordon lay on his stomach in the darkened tube that was the Micro-Mole's pilot's chamber, and adjusted his breathing mask over his nose and mouth. The Mole's prototype had been built specifically for testing the C-30/1 drill bit and the side movement tracks. It was made for one-man operation, and comfort was the last thing on Brains's mind when he designed it. There just wasn't enough room for the larger air tanks or the air recycling and purification plant incorporated into the final version, so the operator had to rely on smaller air tanks. Using the mask meant that nothing was wasted. 

The padded pallet Gordon lay on had a ridge where he could rest his chest as he propped himself on his elbows. There were hand grips to help control speed and, to a certain extent, direction. The control panels were lit from behind and touch sensitive, with separate screens for orientation, the thermal imager, and communications. The hatch was above him. It was nearly a meter long, and hinged up almost like a coffin lid, an image that the Tracys remembered as they dug out their island base.

He knew why he had been the one selected for this portion of the job; he was most accustomed to working in dark, cramped conditions. During his stint with the undersea colony, he had commanded - if commanding was the proper word for it – a bathysphere used for deep sea explorations. This had meant dropping down into the darkest parts of the sea in a round, cramped capsule, one that could have been easily crushed by the tremendous pressures surrounding it. It had meant a long, slow descent, the lights from the sphere barely penetrating the dark water, and an even longer, slower ascent to ensure he didn't get diver's narcosis. But when he had arrived at his destination, the wonders of the deep sea were myriad, and he always had been sad to leave. The memories of the bathysphere made him appreciate the comparative roominess of Thunderbird Four's cockpit. And they made traveling underground in a one-man digging machine bearable.

"Micro-Mole from Mobile Control." Scott's voice sounded tinny in his earphone.

He reached up to tap it. "Micro-Mole here. Go ahead."

"We have an update on the victims. It seems that the batteries on the satellite phone are dead. Epsilon has tested for a signal and gotten none."

"F-A-B. What about the composition of the vault itself? How hard is it going to be to break through the floor?"

Scott turned back to the data screen at Mobile Control. "According to our expert, the floor, walls, and ceiling of vaults like this one are comprised of a series of pre-fab panels. The panels are made of a compressed, reinforced concrete mixture, very strong, and nearly invulnerable. Not even a thermic lance could get through. But they haven't gone up against C-30/1 before. Rho is certain that the Micro-Mole should cut through with relative ease."

"_Should_ cut through?" came Gordon's skeptical response.

"Yes," Scott replied, shaking his head slowly. "He's _highly_ optimistic."

There was a silence on the other end for a moment, then Gordon's voice, distorted by the air mask, came back. "F-A-B."

"What's your ETA to the vault?" Scott asked, making sure that not only could base hear the talk back, but Thunderbirds Two and Five as well.

"ETA to the vault, seven minutes," Gordon replied. "Hmm. The sensors indicate a pipe cutting across my route... any idea of what it's for?"

"Micro-M-Mole from Th-Thunderbird Two." Brains's voice now sounded from the Mobile Control speakers. "Th-That seems to be a, uh, small waste pipe, one that runs from the b-bank to the main s-sewer."

"Oh, lovely," Virgil could be heard to say in the background. "Omicron from Delta. Any way you can avoid it?"

Scott could swear he _heard_ Gordon's grin as he replied, "Sorry, Delta. No can do. It's right in the line going up to the vault floor, and if I deviate, I'll take out a power cable. Maybe it'll be dry since it hasn't been used for a while."

"One can only hope," Virgil muttered.

"Thunderbird Two from Mobile Control," Scott said, stepping in. "I suggest you use a HAZMAT suit, Delta. Just in case."

"F-A-B," Virgil replied with a sigh.

"Mobile Control from Micro-Mole." Gordon's voice had gone serious again. "I've begun to climb at the required angle. Thermal imager shows three individual hits. I should come up into the vault without touching them as long as nobody moves."

"F-A-B, Micro-Mole," Scott replied. "Mobile Control on standby."

As Jeff listened to the talk back, a box popped up on his computer screen, indicating he had mail. He glanced at the address, then clicked on the window to open the letter. Scanning down the note, his face took on a sad, resigned expression, and he tagged the mail for a particular folder. _I'll print it out later,_ he told himself. _But that's the last one._

"Jeff?"

He looked up to see Lou standing near his desk, a cup of coffee and a saucer in her hand. She had been walking around the room, examining the artwork as she listened to the talk back. When Kyrano came up with refreshments, she hurried over to help him, only to be gently displaced by Parker, who smiled benignly, murmured, "Beggin' yer pardon, madam," and proceeded to serve the coffee around.

"Yes, Lou?" Jeff asked, turning to face the portraits, tuning in to the talk back again.

"Uh, do you really need me here? I mean, Parker's your expert on vaults, and your sons seem to have everything under control..." She put her cup on the desk top and gave him a rueful smile. "I'm not exactly contributing anything."

"Well, we didn't know if you'd contribute anything during the space station rescue, either, but you did," Jeff replied. "Would you please stay?"

She sighed. "All right. I just thought that if I got enough rest, perhaps I could fly Alan, Tin-Tin and Kenny to L.A. tomorrow."

"No. It's too soon for you go back to the States," Jeff stated flatly, most of his attention on the talk back, and his eyes turned back to the portraits. "I'm sure the police are still looking for you."

Lou frowned. "And how are they going to know it's me? I haven't seen you or your sons needing a passport check to get in and out of the States. Why would I come under scrutiny?"

"Lou, just... please. Sit down so I can concentrate on the talk back," Jeff said in a slightly irritated tone. "We can talk about it more when the boys are on their way home."

The sound on Scott's portrait increased in volume. "Base from Mobile Control. Omicron reports that he's gained entrance to the vault."

xxxx

_I must be dreaming._

The ground trembles, vibrates, and a high pitched noise, like from a drill, fills the air. The vibration gets heavier. The noise gets louder and she feebly raises her hands to try and cover her ears. Dust and small chunks of concrete drop from the ceiling. _It will fall on us, then we'll all be dead, _she thinks, her mind sluggish.

Suddenly, there is a loud cracking sound. The drill noise drops in pitch and she can feel something rise up through the floor, warping it beneath her. The thing is spinning, spewing forth dirt and bits of stone. She turns her head and tries to shield her face, whimpering at the intrusion. But at last the spinning stops, and the noise subsides. Miss Hansa peers into the darkness, trying to make out the shape of the thing. She hears a loud click, then a scraping, sharp and quick, a curse,- _Somebody's there! -_and a longer scraping, one that sets her teeth on edge. Colored lights appear within an odd shaped frame, and silhouetted in their gleam, a figure emerges.

"What was her name again? Oh, thanks. Miss Hansa? Are you here?" The voice isn't the same as Mr. Thunderbird's and it sounds muffled. A light switches on suddenly, and she sees a patch of the broken, distended floor in its brightness. But the bright light dims, making it more bearable when it sweeps across her face. She tries to raise her hand against even that slight beam, and the figure- the man - catches the movement.

"Wait just a moment. I'm coming," he says in English, his tone authoritative, yet gentle. The figure pauses for a moment, eclipsing the bright-on-black lights behind him, and she hears a soft clanking sound. Then he crunches across the floor towards her, the circle of dim light his guide.

"Hello there," he says amiably. "Are you Miss Hansa?"

Her throat is dry and the words stuck in it, but eventually she whispers, "Yes."

"There's someone here who wants to talk to you."

"Miss Hansa?" Mr. Thunderbird's voice is far less tinny coming from the device she is handed. "Are you there, Miss Hansa?"

"Y-Yes, I am," she replies shakily.

"I am glad to hear your voice again, Miss Hansa. I was getting worried. Now, please listen carefully..."

The man who crouches before her is shining his light all over her, checking her for injuries. He brightens the light, and she can see he has a mask over his nose and mouth. _That's what makes his voice so muffled._ Her friend, Mr. Thunderbird, is telling her that she should put on the mask that his friend, also a Thunderbird, has brought.

"You'll breathe easier," she is told. She allows the new Thunderbird man to put the mask over her face and she sits back to simply breathe. She closes her eyes, and her head begins to clear.

She realizes now that she is not dreaming. The Thunderbirds have finally arrived.

This new Thunderbird man had moved on. He looked over Mr. Banyat, and checked on Miss Piam. Both are still alive, he told someone, but Mr. Banyat was in shock and Miss Piam had a bad concussion. Of course, he didn't know their names, but she knew who he was talking about, even if he didn't. She looked at the odd doorway and the colored lights that she could see beyond it. In the fitful light that the man carried, she could just make out the dirty metal tube, and the drill. Its softly curved edges met at a sharp point; its deep ridges were filled with dirt and chunks of concrete.

Glancing to her side, she saw that her companions have been covered by shiny cloths. Mr. Banyat's breathing was now muffled. _He must be wearing a mask, too._ The Thunderbird man came back, and crouched before her. He took a shiny square from the satchel he carried- _Why didn't I see it before? _- and shook it out. The square became impossibly large, big enough to be a blanket, and the man covered her with it from her shoulders down. She looked up to see his face; for the first time, she saw the visor covering his eyes and the orange hard hat on his head. He smiled at her from behind his clear mask, a friendly, comforting expression, and put the light beside her.

"As my colleague told you, I can't take you with me. There's not enough room in there." He pointed back toward the drill-thing. "But in a little while, more of our people will be here and will bring you out. Stay calm. Talk to Epsilon. I will leave the light here. Do you understand?"

She gripped his hand, desperate to keep him there, desperate for the human contact. "Please," she whispered, "Please. Do not leave me here."

He covered her hand with his other one, and said softly, "I have to go. If I don't, my teammates can't get here. My job was to dig a tunnel for them, and make sure you and your colleagues were okay and would be all right until they could get here. They'll be here soon; in the meantime, you can talk to Epsilon. He'll keep you up-to-date on what's happening. Now I have to leave so they can do their job." He gently disentangled his hand from her grasp. "Stay calm, Miss Hansa. You and your co-workers will be out of this very soon."

With that, he smiled at her again, then turned to leave. She would have wept, but another voice called out to her, the voice of Mr. Thunderbird.

"Miss Hansa! Are you all right?"

The digger-thing started, its engines rumbling, and the floor shifted again as it eased back into the earth. In the light of the lamp, she watched it chug back and forth a bit before it disappeared entirely. The ground below her vibrated for a while longer, but the vibrations soon eased off, leaving her again with the creaks and groans of the smashed buildings.

"Miss Hansa!" Mr. Thunderbird was beginning to sound very concerned.

"I am here," she said sadly.

"Omicron has left," -_ How does he know? _- "but my other colleagues will be with you in just a few minutes." He sounded relieved. "Just a little while longer. Now, tell me some more about your boyfriend..."

xxxx

Virgil climbed out of the Mole using the hatch just behind the mighty drill. He had followed Gordon's route to this point, then had obeyed Scott's instructions. The result? A cone shaped cavern of dirt intersecting the sloping tunnel carved out by the Micro-Mole.

"Hand me a shovel, Sigma," he called to Alan. "We've got to get the mouth of the smaller tunnel cleared."

"Here," Alan said, leaning out of the hatch. "You clear the tunnel; I'll help Rho set up the lights. Then we can pull out the Stokes baskets and the medikit and head up to the vault."

Virgil took the folding shovel and, with the help of his hard hat lamp, scanned the dark, man-made cavern for signs of the tunnel he sought. He tapped the side of his visor, bringing up the HUD map of the differing routes, and tried to figure out where the smaller opening would be. Behind him, Alan had left the Mole and was setting up the first of a trio of tungsten lamps, putting the lights on tripods as Brains handed the equipment down to him.

Virgil's eyes narrowed as he examined the dirt walls. He hadn't had this perspective before; he'd always drilled through to somewhere specific, not stopping mid-journey to dig out a workspace. Lifting the shovel, he poked experimentally at the dirt where he thought the smaller tunnel might be. Once, twice, thrice... the fifth poke was the charm. The shovel went in farther, and as he pulled it back out, enough dirt fell to reveal the smaller tunnel. He turned to his brother. "Over here, Sigma. I've found it."

Alan finished his work with the lights. The cavern was now brightly lit, and Brains joined Alan as he approached Virgil. The older brother was already clearing the meter-plus wideopening, finding the edges. It was nearly a meter off the floor of the little cave, and Virgil piled the loosened dirt at the foot of the tunnel to make a ramp.

"B-Be careful, Delta," Brains cautioned. "There should be a c-corresponding hole in the, uh, floor."

"Yes, Rho," Virgil said. "According to the schematics, it's back there a bit." He turned to point to spot just behind Alan. "Sigma's the one who needs to be cautious."

Alan turned and began probing the area that Virgil had indicated. He pushed his booted foot into the freshly dug earth several times, until finally it sunk in to the ankle. "Right," he said, pulling his foot out again. "I'll get something to cover it, or at least to mark where it is."

"Get another shovel, while you're at it," Virgil told him. "I could use some help here."

Clearing the tunnel's end went quickly with two people working at it. Alan laid a shiny Penelon space blanket over the hole in the floor, marking its location. Then Brains and the brothers gathered their equipment. Three lightweight Stokes baskets, stacked one within another, a length of strong rope, two folded backboards, and a medikit were considered the bare necessities.

"Mole from Mobile Control," Scott's voice sounded in the men's earpieces. "Status report."

"Mobile Control from Delta," Virgil replied. "We're ready to begin the climb to the vault."

"F-A-B," Scott acknowledged. "Report when you arrive."

"F-A-B." Virgil turned to Alan. "Ready?"

"Just let me get my HAZMAT hood on," Alan said. He put the breathing mask on, then slipped the hood over his head. "Between the mask, the hood, and the visors, we must look like some sort of space aliens."

"Yeah," Brains said, good humoredly. "I hope we d-don't, uh, scare the victims."

"As long as we're protected from whatever's in that waste pipe," Virgil muttered. "We'll make sure that the victims are well-covered in those Penelon blankets, too, for their protection." He glanced at his companions. "Ready? Let's go."

xxxx

"Come on, Scott, come on! Pick up the bloody phone!"

Melissa Riordan held her satellite phone up to her ear once again. This was the third time she had called in the past hour. _Third time's the charm,_ she thought hopefully. "Or not," she muttered as she heard Scott's voice mail message again.

"Scott, it's Mel again. Sorry to be such a bother, but I really need to talk to you. I have some questions about the estate... and I could use a shoulder to cry on right now. Please call me back as soon as you can. Thanks."

She sat down on her bed and sighed heavily. _I wish Da would stop harping on selling the property in Unity City. He's so determined to "keep his grandkids close"... I just don't know how to handle this. Scott will know, I'm sure, but can I get hold of the man? _

She shook her head._ Listen to yourself, woman! The man has a **life**! He can't drop whatever it is he's doing to come to your rescue. You have to figure this out for yourself, and soon! For the sake of the children. The longer we stay, the more attached they become. Especially Quinn. Da's been making a supreme effort to win his heart. I can just hear the tantrums when we go back to Unity City! More than that, I need to get them back to school. I don't have much longer until I'll have to enroll them here; then we're well and truly trapped._

Looking down at the phone in her hand, she took a deep breath, and put it aside. _No, I won't call again... not yet. Don't want the man to think I'm a desperate, helpless woman... even if I feel that way sometimes. Oh, God! How I miss Peter! _Her eyes stung at the thought of him and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself._ Why the hell did he take that friend of his up on his offer? If he'd turned down the drink, he wouldn't have gotten into such a mess and everything would be as it should be! _

Frowning, she stood and went to the window, looking over the yard. _Who **was** that man anyway? I don't remember Peter ever mentioning anyone with the name of Parker. He told me all about his time at Oxford; how he met Scott and the good times they used to have while Scott was there. But... he never mentioned a Mr. Parker. _

She ran a hand through her hair. _Still, Da said the man was at the wake, and I saw him at the funeral. Scott seemed to know him. I guess... it **must** be all right. Scott wouldn't lie to me. I just wish I could shake this feeling that there's something missing. _

"Melissa!" Her mother's voice floated up the stairs.

"Time to start dinner, I suppose," Melissa said to herself. She glanced at the satellite phone, then resolutely put it in her pocket. "I don't care _when _Scott calls. I need to talk to him and I won't be playing phone tag with him all day." She checked her face for signs of tears, then grabbed an elastic hair tie, pulling her hair up and back as she left the room.

xxxx

Penelope longed for a cigarette. Since she was in the lounge when the rescue started, she felt constrained to stay, to wait and listen until the stand down was given. She could tell that nearly everyone felt the same way, even Eleanor, who was nodding in a chair. Jeff's comment about the space station rescue intrigued her; she hadn't heard anything about it. _Not surprising, really,_ she thought. _I **was** rather out of touch while at Bongo-Bongo, and not only with the Tracys. _She glanced over at Lou, who had taken a seat on Thunderbird Three's couch next to Tin-Tin. They were talking in low tones; Penelope could only catch a word or two of their conversation.

Suddenly, her urge for a cigarette peaked, and she stood. "If you'll excuse me, Jeff, I am going to step outside for a breath of fresh air."

"Sure, Penny." Jeff glanced in her direction, then waved a hand distractedly.

"Would any of you ladies care to join me?" she asked politely. Her question jolted Eleanor awake and the older woman wiped at her eyes.

"No, thank you, Penelope," she said, stiffly rising from her chair. "I think I'll go on to bed. The boys have things well in hand and I know Jeff will wake me if something goes wrong." She directed a stern look toward her son. "Won't you, Jeff."

"Yes, Mother," Jeff replied. He rose and came out from behind his desk to give her a kiss. "Goodnight, Ma," he murmured.

"Goodnight, everyone," Eleanor said, raising her hand.

Tin-Tin glanced up from her wedding magazine and called, "Goodnight, Mrs. Tracy." Lou and Penny added their own salutes, and Jeff followed his mother through the study and into the hallway.

"Well, anyone for that breath of fresh air?" Penny asked again.

"I'll go with you, your Ladyship," Lou said, standing to stretch. "It's getting a bit stuffy in here."

"Tin-Tin? What about you?"

"I'm sorry, Penelope. I would rather remain here until the rescue is over."

Penelope smiled. "I understand, dear Tin-Tin. After all, you do want to see your _fiancé_ come home safely."

"Yes, that's very true," Tin-Tin admitted, smiling. She turned her attention back to her reading. "Besides, there's a very interesting article that I'd like to finish. I never dreamed that these magazines would be so full of information."

"We'll leave you to it, then," Penelope said good naturedly. Turning, she found Lou already waiting at the door to the outside. "Ah, yes. I am coming."

The two older women left the lounge just as Jeff returned to it. He glanced over at the tall windows, and at the women who were settling themselves in lounge chairs outside. "I hope I don't have to go out there and referee," he muttered as he settled himself back behind his desk. "Mobile Control from Base. Status report, Alpha."

xxxx

Miss Hansa heard them before she saw them. Muttered voices were coming closer, getting louder. The air in the vault was fresher now, but it smelled earthy and not entirely pleasant. The groaning of the tortured walls was louder, and more dust was filtering in between the joins of the ceiling. When she heard the voices, she moved forward a bit, carrying the lantern that the digger pilot had left with her. The shiny blanket fell away as she crawled over the debris-strewn floor to the hole. She peered into the dark void, then fell back with a cry of surprise as a light shone upward, and a cheery voice called, "Hello, up there!"

"H-Hello," she called back, her voice stronger than it had been, even with all her talking with Mr. Thunderbird. She heard his voice behind her, and crawled back to the communicator.

"What's happening, Miss Hansa?"

"There are men coming up through the hole in the floor."

Mr. Thunderbird sounded satisfied, and pleased. "That will be Delta and his team. Now, you need to do what they tell you and very, very soon you'll be out of danger. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand." She hesitated, then asked, "Will I see you when I reach safety?"

She thought he sounded sad as he replied, "No, I'm afraid you won't. But it has been nice to talk to you, Miss Hansa, and I wish you and your colleagues the very best."

Miss Hansa frowned. _He sounds as if he is saying goodbye._ But before she could say anything more, a white suited figure came up through the hole.

"Hello, there. You must be Miss Hansa. You can call me Delta. We're here to get you out."


	18. What should my next move be?

_Author's Note:_ The rescue wraps up. Penny and Jeff both talk with Lou. Scott checks his messages, and Alvarez goes to lunch. Thanks to Hobbeth for being a sounding board and betareading.

The character of "Zenith" is from the Thunderbirds comic book story, "Sands of Terror", reprinted in _Thunderbirds: Classic Comic Strips from TV Century 21_, edited and compiled by Graham Bleathman and Sam Denham, Carlton Books, 1999, pp. 115-122.

_Special note:_ I wasn't sure where the passenger elevator terminus was located as it's not in any cross-section I've been able to access. So I have mentioned it as being in the spot where I've placed it at my website. Sorry for any discrepancy there.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

"Mole from Mobile Control," Scott called. "Status report." 

Alan replied this time. "Sigma here. We have two of the victims out of the vault. Nearly done preparing the third one now."

"F-A-B," Scott answered. He turned to see a weary Gordon approach from the direction of Thunderbird Two. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. The Micro-Mole is in the pod and locked down for transport." Gordon lifted his hat and ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "I think it will make a good, permanent addition to the auxiliary vehicles. It just needs a paint job and maybe an upgrade of the interior. My elbows are sore!"

"I'll have base make note of that," Scott said wryly. "I'm sure Rho can get to it in a few months. Did you have any trouble getting it back on the trolley?"

Gordon shook his head and put his cap back on. "None whatsoever. I like the fact that we don't _have_ to back it out of the earth like we do the Mole. It's that flexibility that's going to make this a real asset. That and the fact that it can get into smaller places."

"Noted and filed." Scott turned back to Mobile Control. "The guys are preparing the last victim for transport out."

"Would that be Miss Hansa?"

"No, actually," Scott explained. "They took her out first to give themselves some room to work." He shook his head. "I hope they all make it out of this alive."

"I'm afraid there'll be at least one fatality," Gordon said solemnly. "They were in that vault too long."

In the Mole, Miss Hansa lay quietly, just happy to be free of the dark. Delta and his colleagues had insisted on her going out first, even though they knew that Mr. Banyat and Miss Piam were in worse condition. "We n-need the room to, uh, work," one of them had said.

So she allowed herself to be lifted into an uncomfortable wire basket and covered with more of the shiny blankets. When one of the men tried to put the blanket over her face, she had cried, "No! I am not dead!"

Delta had pulled back the cover and smiled at her. His voice, even more soothing than that of Mr. Thunderbird, calmed her. "We know that, Miss Hansa. But the tunnel is damp and dirty, and there is a place where a small sewer pipe was cut through. We want to protect you from the dirt and... other things as much as possible. Don't worry. As soon as you are clear of the tunnel, we will uncover your face. Do you understand?"

It took her a moment, but she breathed deeply and said, "Yes. I understand."

"Good. Now, let's get you out of here."

They had covered her up again, and she felt herself being lifted carefully. The journey down the tunnel seemed long, and was filled with rocking and an occasional jolt. The men said things to each other, but not to her. She could smell the foul odor of the pipe as they passed it, and a large drop or two fell on the blankets. Then there was a good deal of light, and the one who they called Sigma, told her to close her eyes. She heard the rustling of the blankets, and felt it pull away from her face, then she was told to open her eyes again.

She did, and looked up to see a dirt ceiling, the lights that lit the small cavern creating odd shadows on the roots that dangled down, some of them thick and freshly cut. The two men carried her along, and she turned her head to one side, then gasped.

"What is it, M-Miss Hansa?" the stutterer asked.

"The digging machine!" she whispered. "It is... huge!"

Sigma chuckled. "Yes, it is. That's why we sent the smaller digger into the vault. This one is far too big to fit."

They carried her up into the digging machine, and laid her down, basket and all, on a bench, fastening the basket so it would not slide. She looked across the interior of the digger to see a bench like the one she was on. It had been folded out to make a wide, bed-like couch. The stutterer leaned over her to check her eyes and her pulse, then he replaced the dirty blanket with a clean one. He also removed the air tank and mask.

"Y-You won't need that now," he told her. "Just, uh, rest. I'll b-be back soon."

She didn't know how long it took, but the two men came back with another basket, this one holding Mr. Banyat. They placed his basket on the other couch. The stutterer checked his pulse and his eyes, and replaced the air tank with a fresh one. Now she was waiting for them to bring in Miss Piam. Then this whole horrible nightmare would be well and truly over.

xxxx

Penelope pulled her cigarette holder from the small purse she was carrying and extended it to its full ten inch length. Lou watched with interest as the aristocrat removed a cigarette from a chrome case to load into the end of the holder. She caught a quick flash of a crest of some kind on the slim, shiny folder before Penny slipped it back into her purse.

"Oh dear," Penny said. "I shall have to light this one myself. Parker is in the kitchen, helping Kyrano."

"If you'll hand me your lighter..." Lou said, reaching toward the aristocrat.

"Oh!" Penny said, startled at the offer. She reached into the purse and pulled out a chrome lighter. Handing it to Lou, she leaned over a bit as her companion clicked the button on the narrow side of the rectangular device. A small, yellow bit of flame shot out, and Lou maneuvered it to the end of Penelope's cigarette. A few puffs, and Penny sat back, delicately releasing smoke from her mouth.

Lou examined the lighter before handing it back. "Family crest?" she asked, indicating the precisely incised decoration on the side.

"Yes. Thank you so much for doing the honors. I find lighting my own fag difficult with such a long holder."

"You're welcome."

The two women sat back and were quiet for a while. Penelope smoked, knocking her ashes into the saucer of her teacup, which she had brought out with her. Lou lounged with her hands behind her head. She had shed her sneakers when she sat down, and her bare feet waved as if keeping time to a rhythm only she could hear.

"So, Mrs. Myles," Penelope finally said. "Let us get to know one another. I am sure we could have done so over dinner, but it was hard to get a word in edgewise once the old dear started talking."

"Very true, your Ladyship," Lou replied amiably. "Mrs. Tracy was very talkative this evening."

There was a pause, then Penelope said, "I understand that you are divorced."

"You're right. I am."

Do you have any children?"

"No, I don't, more's the pity." Lou turned to face Penelope now. "You?"

"Oh, dear, no. I've never been married, you see."

Lou smiled slightly, reminding Penny of a pleased cat. "Well, last I heard, marriage wasn't a necessary prerequisite for having children."

Penelope was a bit discomfited. "Yes, quite." She took another draught or two of her cigarette, then asked, "How did you meet Lucille?"

"Oh, I actually met Jeff first," Lou said blithely, and she went on to recount her assignment with the fledgling Tracy Industries and how she met Jeff, then Lucille. "We became good friends and remained so until her death," she concluded.

"That is very... interesting," Penelope said as she absorbed the information.

"How did you come to meet Jeff?" Lou asked quickly.

"I was introduced to him by a mutual friend, Sir Jeremy Hodge," Penny replied. "I was becoming disillusioned with the Bureau; I felt they were not making use of my full potential, but had pigeonholed me as a dilettante. When Jeff expressed a need for someone to work undercover in England, Sir Jeremy mentioned my name. Jeff set me a pretty problem involving one of Brains's devices, and I must say I solved it with flying colors. He then recruited me for the cause."

"Ah, I see," Lou responded thoughtfully. "So you've known him for, what? Three years, four?"

"Four," Penelope said firmly. "My tenure with International Rescue began during the year before they began operations."

"So that would be a year or so after we collaborated," Lou remarked.

"Yes, it would."

"You weren't with the Bureau for very long then."

Penny sighed. "No, I fear I was not." She blew out some more smoke, her action as ladylike as could be achieved. "I am terribly sorry not to have recognized you earlier."

"No problem," Lou said, a small smile on her lips. "It just shows that my disguise is effective."

"Ah, yes. Though I am not quite sure I would have recognized you without your disguise," Penny commented. "There have been so many other agents to deal with over the years that I couldn't possibly remember them all."

Lou said nothing, but sat up straight in the lounger and stretched, yawning. She settled back down and gazed up at the sky. The silence continued for a moment. Penny finished her smoke and let her holder cool a bit before collapsing it to its original size and stowing it in her purse.

"So," she began again. "Why are you here, Mrs. Myles? What brings you to Tracy Island?"

"Why am I here?" Lou repeated. "I guess you could say I'm in deep cover. A situation in the States developed that prompted Jeff to invite me here. I accepted his invitation."

"Would that be the situation he was involved in? The one at your home?"

"No, not that, though the incident in question stems from that, and Jeff was definitely mixed up in it. So were Scott and Gordon, for that matter."

Penny paused for a moment. "I see. Jeff said that the authorities were looking for you."

"Yes. They are. For questioning at the very least." Lou examined her nails in the light coming from the lounge's unshaded windows.

"Hmm." Penny frowned. "It is not like Jeff to harbor a fugitive."

Lou laughed. "Believe me, your Ladyship, I am no fugitive from justice." She turned fully to regard Penelope. "However, if the authorities were to catch up with me, they'd ask a lot of uncomfortable questions. Ones that would make things very complicated for the Tracy family and Jeff, in particular. I don't want to implicate him in the situation at all, even though he is deeply involved. And I haven't yet come up with a plausible explanation for the incident. You know, something that would tally with the evidence they've got, but leaves Jeff and his sons out of it. Ergo, here I am, out of reach." She raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Now, your Ladyship, why are _you_ here? Besides picking up your car, that is."

"Oh, you have seen FAB-1?" Penny asked.

"Yes, I have. A remarkable vehicle," Lou replied. She frowned a little. "Though I wonder if the choice of such a lurid pink is wise. It draws attention to the car when such attention might be dangerous."

Penny bristled at Lou's description of FAB-1's color. She took a deep breath to calm herself before speaking. "It is true that the color rather grabs one's attention," she admitted. "But it correlates with my slightly eccentric public personality. And at times, people are looking at _it_, and not at those who are within."

"Oh, I understand, now." Lou nodded slowly. A corner of her mouth quirked upward as she said, "But back to the original question. What brings Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward to Tracy Island?"

"Perhaps my friendship with the family," Penny replied coolly. "Or perhaps my position with International Rescue. Either reason would do."

"Or perhaps a combination of the two?" Lou asked, her voice suddenly going serious. "Jeff did tell me something about your confrontation, and why you had left the island. Both reasons."

Penelope looked away, her face showing her disapproval. "And Virgil assured me that he was the only one to whom Jeff had said spoken about it."

"Jeff spoke to me about it after you left," Lou replied, sitting back and shaking her head. "Don't hold it against him; he was smashed, and being drunk makes him both garrulous and argumentative. I know; I've seen him like that before."

"During your long acquaintance with him and Lucille."

"Yes."

The silence between them was strained now. Finally Lou said, "I take it you've made a decision concerning International Rescue."

"I have. And I have informed Jeff of that decision."

"Ah. I'm sure we'll all hear from him about it later."

"Yes, I am sure."

There was another long, uncomfortable pause, then Penny took a deep breath and asked bluntly, "Was he smashed when he told you he loved you?"

Lou jerked as if stung. She took a moment to compose herself, lightly biting her lower lip, then she turned to Penelope, her face and voice as bland as she could make them.

"That's a rather audacious question, your Ladyship. It presupposes that he _has_ told me he loves me." She swallowed, and passed the tip of her tongue over her lips. "For the record, whatever passes between Jeff and me outside of International Rescue is none of your business. His decision to love, or not to love, is exactly that: _his_. Not yours, not mine. He has his reasons for the way he feels about both of us, and he has given you those as far as his relationship with you is concerned. The fact that he shared them with me was also his choice, plastered or not. Frankly, he was stunned to discover that I was a part of those reasons. So was I."

"Oh?" Penelope folded her arms, a belligerent pose.

"Yes." Lou sat back to gaze up at the sky again. She took a deep breath and said softly, "Jeff and I had been friends for so long that it didn't occur to me we could have any other kind of relationship. And I don't think it occurred to him until that moment."

"And now your relationship to him is...?" Penny asked, trying to sound merely interested.

"None of your business," Lou repeated, turning her head back toward the aristocrat and stressing the word "none". "If you want to know more, you'll have to ask him."

"I have. He has made it quite clear that the topic is not open for discussion."

"Then leave it alone, your Ladyship." Lou sighed. "If it helps any, we had decided not to wave our relationship in your face while you were here. Jeff knew it would upset you."

"How generous. A pity neither of you thought to inform Mrs. Tracy of your plan," Penelope replied bitterly.

"Even if we had, it wouldn't have changed anything." Lou paused, then added, "Aren't the other reasons, the ones he gave you, enough to convince you of his feelings?"

"I fear he was not terribly forthcoming at the time about just why he was rejecting me," Penny said with a sniff. _Though it sounds as if he said more to **you** than he did to** me**._

"Then perhaps you should ask him to enumerate them for you," Lou replied coolly.

Just then, the door to the lounge opened and Jeff leaned out. "The boys are on their way back," he announced.

"Good," Lou replied. She rose from the lounger and stretched, picking up her sneakers before turning and saying, "Coming, your Ladyship?"

"I will be there momentarily," Penelope replied.

Lou turned and padded inside, while the aristocrat sat quietly, thinking hard. _It is obvious that Mrs. Tracy does not approve of this relationship. And – if I read Mrs. Myles's statement correctly - it appears that love is not yet part of it, either. Perhaps I still have a chance. The question is: what should my next move be?_

xxxx

Alan leaned his head back in his seat. It had been a long rescue, longer than he felt it needed to be, and he was weary. _Part of that is because we were underground. You never feel time pass down there; it always seems to drag. But we did a good job. We got the three victims out safely and alive. I'm glad John kept talking to that one lady. She seemed to be on the verge of hysteria there in the dark. I can never seem to calm people like he does. He's got a real gift there._

"You o-okay, Alan?" Brains asked. Here, face to face, in the privacy of Thunderbird Two's cockpit, they could dispense with the code names.

"I'm tired, that's all," Alan replied. "Climbing up and down that tunnel was hard work."

"But it was the o-only way we could, uh, work things out," the engineer said. "One of us in the vault, one of us by the M-Mole, and one to guide the victim down and help carry them to, uh, safety."

"At least the vault stayed stable for us," Virgil called from the pilot's chair. "With the way those walls were bowed out, and all the creaking, I was sure it was going to collapse with us inside it."

"So was I," Gordon muttered. He was half asleep until the conversation started, and his brothers' voices jolted him awake. He shifted in his seat, rubbing his neck. "We were lucky this time."

"_We_ were, and _they_ were," Virgil said.

There was a murmur of agreement, followed by a comfortable silence. The only sound was the roar of Thunderbird Two's engines, almost a white noise, familiar to all. Gordon dozed again, and Alan yawned. Brains glanced over a data pad he had brought with him, then put it on the empty seat next to him and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. It had felt good to remove the visor. Even though the polyhexane had been shaped to mimic his eye wear prescription, it was difficult to get used to, especially with the Heads Up display. His eyes felt strained, and Brains wasn't quite sure the molding had been properly done.

_Perhaps it's time for another visit to the ophthalmologist,_ he thought. _I wonder if Agent 104 could be roped into helping me make a new visor, or if I'll just have to wear my own glasses on rescues? I'll email him about it... that is, if he's opted to remain an agent. If not, I'll call his office for an appointment anyway._

Thunderbird One had already reached the island, and Lou watched with fascination as Scott lowered his vessel precisely into the hole left by the pool's retraction. She was thankful to be inside as the smoke and flame from his landing curled up around the balcony and filled the air for several minutes after the rocket plane's red nose disappeared.

She turned back to Jeff, shaking her head. "That is amazing. Your sons are certainly talented."

"They've had plenty of practice over the past three years," Jeff replied, smiling proudly.

"So, where will he come out?" she asked.

"Keep an eye on that wall over there," Jeff told her, indicating the light sconces. "Thunderbird One is moving on a platform up an incline to just the other side of that wall."

"I remember seeing the tunnel when you took me on the grand tour." Lou looked down at her feet. "It must be an incredibly smooth ride. I don't feel any vibrations."

"The villa was designed and constructed to withstand the take offs and landings," Tin-Tin told her. "Otherwise, the whole house would have been destroyed the first time Thunderbird One took off."

Lou nodded, her eyes flicking upward to the bit of wall. "You must have had a hell of an architect."

"More than that," Tin-Tin said with a smile. "We had Brains and his cahelium."

The piece of wall suddenly swung around, and Lou gasped as Scott appeared, looking weary and rumpled in his uniform, his civvies draped over an arm. He smiled slightly at the look on Lou's face and said mildly, "Surprise!"

"It certainly is that," Lou replied, chuckling. "You'll have to show me how you do that sometime."

"Sometime," Scott echoed. He turned to his father. "The automatic refueling sequence has started. Thunderbird Two is twenty minutes behind me. Where do you want to debrief?"

Jeff looked at the clock. "Hmm. I think the lounge is fine. You've got a little bit of time to shower if you can, and at least change clothes. I'll try to keep the debriefing short."

"F-A-B," Scott replied, stifling a yawn. "I'll be back soon." With that, he walked off to his suite.

"Well, Jeff, I think I shall retire for the night," Penelope announced as she stood. "Parker will bring me a tray for breakfast since I expect to sleep in."

"I expect the boys to sleep in as well, Penny," Jeff replied. "I'm going to let Kyrano know to plan on breakfast for later than usual. So if you feel up to joining us, you'll be welcome."

"I shall give it due consideration," the aristocrat said with a smile. "Goodnight, Jeff, Tin-Tin."

"Goodnight, Penny." "Goodnight, Penelope."

She turned to Lou, who had taken a seat by the desk, and nodded towards her. "Mrs. Myles."

"Goodnight, your ladyship," Lou responded blandly.

Penelope left, following Scott's path through the study. Jeff watched her go, while Lou got up and stretched.

"Where will the others appear from?" she asked.

"The passenger elevator," Jeff replied. "It will take them directly from Thunderbird Two's cockpit up to the end of the lower hallway."

"It's not the same elevator we took, is it?" Lou asked, looking puzzled.

"Oh no," Tin-Tin piped up. "The passenger elevator comes out next to the lift we took." She rose and picked up her wedding magazines. "I will take these to my room, then wait for the boys to come up from the hangar."

"Waiting for Alan already?" Jeff asked in a teasing tone.

"Well, I suppose I should get used to it as soon as possible," Tin-Tin riposted, a small, mischievous smile on her lips. "I expect I will be doing it for many years to come. Goodnight, Jeff. Goodnight, Lou."

"Goodnight, Tin-Tin," Lou said, giving her a little wave as the Malaysian girl headed for the study.

Before she was through the doorway between the rooms, Jeff called out, "Oh, Tin-Tin?"

She turned around. "Yes, Jeff?"

"How are your flight hours looking?" When she cocked her head, looking puzzled, he added, "Can you fly to Los Angeles tomorrow?"

"Oh!" she cried. She was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "I believe so. My father piloted some of the trip today. I'll just need a good night's rest."

"Good." Jeff nodded, and turned to his computer. "I'll submit your flight plan now. Make sure my sons and Brains get up here as soon as they arrive; I want to sleep just as much as they do."

"I will, Jeff," she assured him. "Goodnight again."

"Goodnight, Tin-Tin," Jeff said with a nod. Tin-Tin disappeared into the study and, in the sudden quiet of the lounge, Lou could hear the swish of the door to the hall as it opened.

Jeff continued to input the details of the flight plan, murmuring them into a microphone. Lou got up and went to the windows. The bulky form of Thunderbird Two was coming in for a landing, one side limned in the light of the setting moon. She slipped her feet into her sneakers, and left the lounge, hurrying down to the far end of the pool area, where she had stood earlier to watch the cargo carrier take off. The palm trees fell back and the airstrip suddenly lit up along its edges, guiding the behemoth to its resting place.

She watched as Two came in low over the ocean, the cockpit lighted from within, warning lights glowing red and blue on the tips of the backwards wings and the stabilizing fin at the back. She gasped as she watched the craft slow, then the VTOL jets fire, lighting it up from beneath, bringing it to within yards of the tarmac as it turned slowly, until the nose of the craft pointed once again at the sea. Then there was the steady hum of engines as Thunderbird Two backed up and out of sight. Lou began to chuckle, then to laugh as the cargo carrier disappeared.

"You think that's funny?" came a voice from behind her. She turned to see Jeff walking towards her. As he reached her side, he added, "Don't let Virgil hear you."

She shook her head, still chuckling, as she turned back toward the sea. "He must be one hell of an expert at parallel parking," she commented.

Jeff chuckled, putting his hands in his pockets as he stood, gazing at the sky. The landing lights went out and the palm trees swung back upright. A breeze picked up, and Lou clasped her arms around herself as if cold. She turned to face Jeff.

"I'm sorry about earlier this evening." She shuffled her feet a bit, and looked up at Jeff, who was still gazing out at the stars. "I guess I'm feeling a bit of cabin fever. I'm used to being busy, having a routine that puts me in touch with a lot of different people." She shrugged. "But you're right. The authorities are very likely still looking for me and I really don't have any answers that won't implicate you in the whole sorry mess." Smiling wryly, she added, "I came to _that_ conclusion while talking with her Ladyship."

Jeff snorted a laugh, and turned to her. "Apology accepted. I think I can understand your feelings about cabin fever; you've got a very social personality. And it's not as if you've been able to explore the island. Maybe that's something we should do, once Penelope leaves." He turned his eyes to the shadowed peak of the island behind him. "It's been a long time since I've climbed to the top."

"That would be nice," she said, looking over her shoulder and following his gaze. There was a pause. "When I thought over what I had said, I was actually surprised that I suggested it."

"Why's that?"

"Usually I'm so paranoid, almost anally so." Her voice softened. "I guess... I guess I'm feeling safe here." She smiled. "I don't even lock the door when I leave the Round House."

He gave a small hum, a sound of approval, and began to walk back toward the house. Lou fell into step with him. "So, what did you and Penelope talk about?" he asked.

"Well," she began. "We got to know one another a little, exchanging reasons for being here, that sort of thing. But," she drew out the syllable, then took a deep breath, "we mostly talked about you."

Jeff laughed again, a short, wry sound. "Why did I have the feeling you were going to say that?"

"Because you know both of us well enough to realize you'd be our main topic of conversation," she replied. "And you probably realize that she knows about... us. Whatever 'us' is at the moment."

"I know. My mother saw to that," he said, his tone conveying his annoyance. "I wish she could get it through that stubborn head of hers that... well... there was no affair."

"We got along well enough this afternoon, Jeff," Lou told him gently. "She's willing to work with me. I just think she wanted to make a last ditch effort to show up my shortcomings."

"I hope it's just that: the last effort."

They walked together until they came to the curved stairs. He took the first couple of steps, and stopped when he realized that she wasn't following. He gestured toward the balcony.

"Aren't you coming?"

She shook her head. "No, I have nothing to add to the report. I might as well get some sleep." Giving him a wry look, she added, "I have a few hairballs to clean up, too."

"Hairballs? Ugh."

"Well, it may be autumn here, but my cats are still on a northern hemisphere rhythm. Their bodies say it's spring, and that means shedding their winter coats... and hairballs. Especially from Moofums." She shrugged. "I was about to start cleaning them up when Tin-Tin called me."

"Ah, okay." He looked at her thoughtfully. "You know, it might be wise for you to have one of our telecomm watches. Then you'd know when an emergency came up, and we could get in touch with you a lot faster."

"Does her Ladyship have one?"

Jeff shook his head. "No. She has a make up compact... and a teapot."

Lou gave him an incredulous look. "A... teapot."

He paused for a moment, then chuckled. "Yeah, a teapot. Seemed like a good idea at the time." He shrugged. "She seems to like it."

"Well, good for her. I think I'd rather wear one of those watches." She raised an eyebrow impishly. "Am I correct in assuming that they also tell time?"

"Yes." He replied with exaggerated patience. "They do."

"Good!" she said brightly.

"Dad?"

Both Jeff and Lou looked up to see Virgil at the railing of the balcony. "Oh, excuse me, Aunt Lou," he said politely. "Just wanted to tell you, Dad, that we're ready for debriefing."

"F-A-B. I'll be right up." Jeff turned to Lou. "Will you be all right walking back by yourself?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to get mugged. And I'm not afraid of a little darkness." Gesturing toward the heavens, she added, "Besides, I have zillions of little night lights up there."

"Okay," he said with a chuckle. "Goodnight then." He leaned over, putting a hand to her cheek and kissing her gently.

She returned the kiss, smiled at him, and stroked the side of his face. "Goodnight."

"Ahem."

They glanced up to see the four brothers and Brains lined up at the railing, silhouetted in the light from the lounge behind them.

"What are you all looking at?" Jeff asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

"I dunno, Dad," Gordon replied with a snicker. "You tell us."

"I hope you all realize," Lou said with a straight face, "that since you've witnessed this, we'll have to kill you."

There was a moment of stunned silence. Jeff turned to her, hiding his amused smile. Then the group on the balcony burst into laughter. Lou chuckled and shook her head.

"It is entirely too early in the morning and I am much too punchy," she said, her voice soft so only Jeff could hear. "I'm off to bed."

He put a hand on her shoulder, and said, "All right. Sleep well."

She covered his hand with her own, replying, "You, too." Then she turned her gaze to the still chuckling men on the balcony and waved. "Goodnight, guys. See you later."

"Goodnight, Aunt Lou." "Sleep well." "S-See you later, Lou." "Okay! Goodnight!" "Later, Aunt Lou!"

The rescue team turned and began to file into the lounge, chuckling and talking. Lou moved off, glancing over her shoulder once, and waving at Jeff. He stood on the bottom steps for a bit, watching her go, then redirected his thoughts and his body towards the lounge and the imminent debriefing.

xxxx

Jeff was as good as his word; the debriefing took all of twenty minutes. He tabled any discussion on the Micro-Mole's future role, telling his sons to jot down their opinions for a later date. Then he sent them off to bed, informing them that they were to sleep late, unless another rescue call came in.

Scott now stood in his room, his satellite phone in his hand. There were two messages there from Melissa, and one from the lawyers in Unity City. He mentally calculated the time zone differences and groaned slightly.

_It's what? Four... five in the afternoon for Melissa, and noon in Unity City... I think. Depends on Daylight Savings Time._ He sighed, shaking his head. _I am just too tired to deal with this right now. I can call Mel when I get up; it'll be late there but not that bad. The lawyers are going to have to wait a little longer. I'll text message them both and let them know I got their messages, then tell them when they can expect my return call._

With that, he sat down on his bed and began to write his short responses.

xxxx

Noon in Unity City, and his Excellency, the Minister of Security, was having lunch with members of the World Congress's security subcommittee.

"An exquisite lunch, your Excellency," said the bearded man to Alvarez's left. His narrow, sun darkened face, looked commanding. He smiled slightly and twisted the ring on his middle finger. "I am sure you desire to discuss some matter of great importance."

"Thank you, Senator Zenith, for your compliments on the meal," Alvarez replied, nodding gravely. "You are correct. I have a matter I would like to discuss with you, the senior members of the security subcommittee."

"Would that something be the bill you introduced?" A tall, patrician man with an equally aristocratic English accent sipped at a cup of tea as soon as he had asked his question.

"It is, Lord Silton," Alvarez replied in acknowledgment. "I feel there is a need for tighter security surrounding those relief agencies which routinely cross national borders."

"But why?" asked an older, Asian woman with salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a severe bun. "The majority of the agencies you seem to be targeting usually provide the information your bill calls for."

"Very true, Madame Senator," he conceded with a gracious nod. "However, there are those who do not. And it is those – forgive my characterization of them as such – those 'rogue' entities that I would seek to bring under the aegis of the World Government."

"I have never thought of world relief agencies as rogues," a dark-skinned gentleman said with a chuckle. "Though I am sure some of them have had roguish members from time to time."

"Ah, sir!" Alvarez held up his hands with an apologetic smile. "Again, forgive my choice of description; it was the first thing to come into my head."

Lord Silton's eyes narrowed slightly, but he smiled cordially and asked, "Do you have any particular rogues in mind?"

"Doctors Without Borders is an example," Alvarez replied slowly, his speech cautious. "World Life Flight would be another."

"But surely these organizations already provide the World Government with the data that your bill requires," the Asian woman protested.

Before Alvarez could reply, Senator Zenith spoke up. "Would International Rescue be an example?"

Alvarez nodded slowly. "Yes, they would be." He turned toward the other senators. "They claim to be a secret organization, and expect the world to honor their anonymity. But in this day and age, it is dangerous to keep such secrets." He sat back in his seat, and took a sip of water. "I feel that for their own safety, as well as the safety of Earth's citizens, they should be held to a set of guidelines."

Senator Zenith was nodding his head slowly, as Alvarez knew he would. The current Senator from Zarabia had ruled the tiny Middle Eastern country as regent for a year in the absence of its king. Due to the intervention of International Rescue, the true king was discovered, imprisoned and alive, and Zenith's regime was toppled. It was only through his cleverness at implicating others, an emotional plea to the mercy of the king, and a lenient jail term that allowed him to go free. Add to this a shrewd head for politics that the king appreciated, and he was soon appointed the sole Senator from his tiny country to the World Congress. The king thought it ironically fitting that the man who tried to keep the World Government out of Zarabia was now deep in its machinations as his representative. But Alvarez relied on Zenith's antagonism against IR to work in his favor.

"I can see your point, your Excellency," the Zarabian said. "Perhaps it is time to put some reins on these organizations."

Alvarez smiled. Perhaps this plan would yield fruit after all.


	19. It is of utmost importance

_Author's Note:_ Morning workout and brunch. Scott makes a phone call. A rescuee wants to make contact. Jeff calls an important meeting. Thanks to Hobbeth for being a sounding board and betareading.

_Special notes:_ According to my research into Thai naming practices, a person's given name is used when addressing them in business situations. Just wanted to make that clear.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

Late morning found Scott entering the workout room. Lou was there before him, running on the treadmill, the sweat on her face and workout clothes indicating that she'd been there for a while. 

"Good morning, Aunt Lou."

Lou glanced over at him, and pulled one of her earphones out. "Good morning, Scott."

"Didn't you sleep in?" he asked with a smile as he began to stretch.

"I would have," she responded, returning the smile. "But I have four furry tyrants who have a definite idea on when breakfast should be. They're beginning to adjust to this time zone, too."

"Ah, I see." Scott began to skip rope as part of his warm-up. "Why aren't you running on the beach with Dad?"

Lou sighed, and adjusted the angle on the treadmill, making the surface steeper and more challenging. "Your father and I decided not to wave our relationship in front of Penelope's face while she's here. Besides, he needs his sleep. I didn't want to wake him." She put her earphone back in. "On top of that, it looks like it's going to rain."

Scott nodded, and continued to skip rope. After working up a good sweat, feeling loose and limber, he walked over to the strength training machine and began to do what Lou recognized as tricep pulldowns. She put her focus back on running for a few moments, then pulled an earphone out again, asking, "Any idea when breakfast will be?"

"Hmm. Good question." He looked to his left at the wall clock. "When we have such a late night that segues into an early morning, Kyrano usually serves a brunch around ten-thirty. It's almost always buffet style to accommodate those who are already up and about as well as those slackers who are still in bed." He grinned as he said it, for at that moment, Virgil walked in, dressed to work out.

"Hey, I'm no slacker today, Scott," Virgil protested. "Good morning, Aunt Lou."

"Good morning, Virgil," she replied amiably. To Scott she added, "Brunch sounds good. It'll give me a chance to get a shower." She put her earphone back in, adjusted the treadmill back down in speed and angle and began to walk, starting to cool off from her workout. Her head bobbed slightly in time to the music she was listening to.

"What's on your playlist now?" Virgil asked, as he stretched.

"I don't think you'd recognize it," Lou said, stepping off the treadmill. She picked up a towel from a nearby bench, and patted her face and neck with it. "I have pretty eclectic tastes."

"Try me," Virgil said, smiling. He stepped over to her and held out his hand. She listened for a moment more, then removed the earphones.

"Wait! It just changed songs. You'll know this one, Virgil. A blast from the past!" she said as she handed over her player.

Virgil put the buds in his ears and listened, then broke out in a loud laugh. "Oh, Aunt Lou! You're right! And what a blast!" Pulling the earphones out, he strode over to Scott. "Listen to this, Scott. I guarantee you'll love it!"

Giving both his brother and Lou a skeptical look, Scott stopped his lat pulls, took the player and settled the phones in his ears. For a moment, he heard a distinctly western sounding bit of instrumental, then a man's nasal, Texas-accented voice drawled in a sing-song manner:

_Always drink upstream from the herd.  
__Never look straight up at a bird.  
__If you get bucked off, get back on!  
__And don't squat with your spurs on._

Scott laughed out loud as he listened to more of the piece. "Oh, man! I remember you playing that for us! You'd sort of sing along, and do some motions to go along with it, then we'd all join in on the chorus!" He removed the phones and handed the player back to Virgil. "I think John actually memorized the whole thing!"

"Oh yeah, he did!" Virgil said, listening to the end of the song. "I remember one night he sang the whole thing for Mom and Dad, with all the motions and everything! Of course, we joined in on the chorus."

"And remember the look on his face when he got to the part where the cowboy _did_ squat with his spurs on?" Scott added, pointing at his brother. "Mom and Dad about rolled on the floor laughing!" He shot a questioning glance at Lou. "What group was that again? I might go looking for it myself."

"Riders In The Sky," Lou replied, passing a hand through her sweaty curls. She smiled widely. "Your mom appreciated that kind of humor," she said as Virgil handed her player back to her. "I think that was the main reason why we got along so well. We could laugh at the same things."

"Dad didn't always see what was so funny, but in that case, he sure did," Virgil said, as he picked up some hand weights. "Man, I'd forgotten about that song."

"There's probably a whole lot that we've forgotten about our Aunt Lou," Scott said with a grin. "And some of it's probably best left that way."

They all laughed. Scott moved into his cool down, and Lou hung her towel around her neck. "Virgil? Scott? Do either of you know where that laptop I've been working with has gotten to? I'll need it after brunch."

"Going to keep an eye on those anti-IR sites?" Virgil asked as he began to warm up with some bicep curls.

"Yeah, and see if I can find out what our 'friend' in the World Government might be up to."

"I'll find it for you after my workout," Virgil promised.

"Hey, can I see what Parker did to that one website?" Scott asked. "I overheard you talking about it."

Lou laughed. "Oh, yeah! You should! It's a scream!" She made motions with her hands, passing them back and forth. "There are all these chibi cops and robbers chasing each other across the screen..."

"Chibi?" Scott asked, nonplussed.

Virgil continued his curls as he interjected, "Chibi is a Japanese art term. It's used in anime and manga to indicate an adult character that's been drawn in the proportions of a child, usually made very cutesy. It's used for comedic purposes." He glanced up at Lou. "Didn't know you were into Japanese comics and cartoons, Lou."

"I'm not, but my great-nieces and nephews are," she explained.

Scott and Virgil glanced at each other, then Scott said, "You have great-nieces and nephews."

Lou nodded. "Yes, I do. My sister's two oldest girls, Donna and Cheryl, are married with children. My oldest nephew, C.J. - Charles Junior - is getting married this summer." She sighed. "I hope I can make the wedding." She shook her head. "I also hope Shelly is well enough for it."

"Wow," Scott said, shaking his head. "Great-nieces and nephews. Who'd have thought it?" He stopped using the pull bar, and moved over to adjust the weights for the leg bar. Pausing, he asked, "Uh, speaking of your sister, how is she?"

Lou finished zipping up her gym bag, then turned to him with a pained smile. "Last I knew, she had started physical therapy for her knee. It's going to take a long time to heal." She shook her head. "I should get in touch with her, and see how she's doing."

"Well, give her our regards and best wishes when you do," Scott said. "I mean, we did speak to her when you first washed up on the island."

Lou sighed again. "Wish I could, Scott, but that would tell her where I was - and that's one piece of information she's better off not knowing." She brightened. "But... I might be able to come up with some kind of code. I'll see what I can do." Glancing around, she smiled again, this time a sincere one. "Right now, there's a shower calling my name. I'll see you two at breakfast... excuse me, brunch."

"See you, Aunt Lou." "Later, Lou."

She left, and there was a quiet moment between the brothers. Then Virgil asked, "How bad was it?"

Scott took a moment to think through his brother's query, then replied, "Bad. Franks had smashed her knee with something heavy. Add that to the bullet graze and some bruises where he must have smacked her around and Mrs. Clarendon was not a pretty sight."

"Hmm. Glad he's out of the picture for good," Virgil commented as he began his bicep curls in earnest.

"Me, too. The day we took him out, we did the world a favor," Scott added darkly.

xxxx

Brunch was just as Scott described it. Lou entered the dining room to find most of the family already there. She hadn't gone as far in dressing up as she had the night before, but what she wore would have been acceptable in almost any business situation. Sitting at the head of the table, Jeff was immersed in the newspaper and didn't see her come in, but as she greeted the others at the table, and they returned those greetings, he put down the paper.

"Good morning, Lou. Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"Good morning to you, Jeff, and yes, I did," was her reply from the buffet, as she paused in filling her plate to aim a smile in his direction. Then she turned back to her business, talking quietly with Kenny, who was at the buffet with her, while Jeff lifted his coffee cup and disappeared behind the paper again.

As Lou sat down, Kyrano came to offer her coffee. She glanced up at him and smiled. "Thank you, Kyrano."

"Mrs. Myles, there are flavored creamers available should you desire them," the retainer quietly told her.

Lou looked delighted. "Flavored creamers? Oh, my, yes! Thank you so much, Kyrano! That was very thoughtful of you."

"Mr. Tracy requested that I purchase them for you. I hope you will enjoy them." Kyrano said, putting a small bowl filled with tiny containers of the special coffee additive beside her cup.

"I most certainly will! Thank you again, Kyrano!" she said as she began to open some of the containers and poured the contents into her drink. "And thank you, Jeff, for remembering that I liked them."

Gordon picked up one of the tiny, sealed plastic cups and examined at it inquisitively. "Didn't Mom like these things?" he asked.

"Yes, she did." Jeff's voice sounded from behind the paper. "Seems that Lou got her hooked on them." He folded the paper down again. "You're welcome, Lou. Enjoy." Scanning the table, he asked, "Where's Penelope?"

"Her Ladyship requested a tray in her quarters," Kyrano stated. "Mr. Parker took one to her an hour ago."

"Then I'll have to send her a message," Jeff said. Putting the paper aside, he cleared his throat. "I would like everyone to meet in the lounge after brunch for a very important meeting."

"Dad?" Alan said from where he sat between Kenny and Tin-Tin. "We were hoping to get airborne as soon as possible once brunch was over."

"I know, Alan, and I'm sorry, but this is of utmost importance," Jeff replied. "I won't keep you long. I'd like Kenny there, as well as you, Mother, and Kyrano, too."

"Me?" Eleanor asked, frowning. "What kind of meeting needs my attendance?"

"A very _important_ one, Mother," Jeff repeated patiently. "The subject of the meeting relates to all of us. Even John will be included."

"So, what's it all about, Dad?" Scott asked. "I have some phone calls to make."

Jeff frowned. "I'm not prepared to discuss this here, Scott, but – as I said – it's _very important_. Your phone calls will have to wait." He motioned to his retainer. "Kyrano, please go and pass on a request from me to Penelope to meet the rest of us in the lounge in, oh, thirty minutes. Parker should be there, too."

"Yes, Mr. Tracy." Kyrano put his coffee carafe down and bowed, then left the room.

Conversation around the table stopped for a few minutes, then Virgil spoke. "Aunt Lou, I've got that laptop for you. I'll give it to you after the meeting."

"Thanks, Virgil. I appreciate it."

With the ice broken, people began to murmur to each other again. Scott glanced at his watch, and wolfed down the last of his eggs. He stood and grabbed his coffee, taking a final swig and swallow. "If you will all excuse me, I'm going to try and get at least one phone call in before this meeting."

Jeff glanced up as Scott made his announcement. Their eyes met, and Jeff nodded slightly. The others at the table indicated their permission, and Scott hurried off, his long, brisk stride changing to a near run as he passed through the dining room doors. He took the stairs two at a time, heading for his suite.

Pulling out his phone, he checked the time once again. "Damn! I hope it's not too late there," he muttered as he speed-dialed a number. Putting in his earphone, he paced his sitting room as he waited for someone to pick up on the other end.

xxxx

She sat in her hospital bed, contemplating Mr. Banyat's satellite phone, cradled in her scratched and bandaged hands. It had been put with her personal possessions in the emergency room. She wished it were charged so she could dial the last number that had called it. Then she could talk to _him_.

_I am sure he would want to know about Mr. Banyat, and Miss Piam,_ she reasoned. Smoothing a finger absently over the blank screen, she remembered his encouraging voice, the way he kept her from total panic. _I wonder if he ever hears about the fate of those he has helped, if **any** of them ever hear or are even thanked for what they do._

The door to her hospital room opened slightly, but she didn't glance up. Most of those who had entered were visitors for the woman in the next bed. Miss Piam was being housed elsewhere, someplace where the neurologists could keep track of her. Mr. Banyat...

She sighed heavily at the thought of him.

"Hansa?" a voice called tentatively.

Her head came up sharply, and she smiled slightly. Her boyfriend was standing there, along with his sister.

"I came as quickly as I could," he said. He handed her a small bouquet of flowers, then brought his hands together at the chin and bowed his head slightly, the traditional greeting. He examined her critically. "You look well."

"As well as can be expected for someone who has gone through what you have," his sister added with a half-hearted tone of sympathy and an equally half-hearted greeting. Miss Hansa held her tongue. There were reasons why she did not like her boyfriend's sister.

She smiled softly. "They are lovely flowers," she said, lifting them to her face and breathing in their fragrance.

"So, how are you feeling?" he asked, fidgeting slightly. He looked and sounded uncomfortable; whether it was from his sister's presence or because he didn't know what to say, she couldn't tell.

"Tired and sad," she replied. "But thankful to be out of... there." The memories of the dark and the dust threatened to swallow her up again, but she heard in her mind the voice, _his_ voicetalking to her, giving her encouragement.

A few shrill bars of music sounded and the sister rooted around in her bag, clearly embarrassed. She pulled her phone from the depths of her purse, opening it briefly, then emphatically shutting it down. But before she could return it to her bag, Miss Hansa held out her hand, smiling. "May I?"

Startled, the sister gave Miss Hansa the phone. The hospitalized woman compared the two devices in her hands, then reached out with first the sister's phone, then Mr. Banyat's. "Would you recharge this?" she asked, again smiling politely. "I need to speak with someone."

xxxx

"Give me that phone!"

"No! It's mine! Get your hands off!"

The phone fumbled between two pairs of hands, and the younger ones, agile and desperate, won the battle. The device, still ringing, was clasped firmly between two palms. Fingers interlocked and the winner drew it close to her body, turning from he who would take it away from her. With a quick motion, she spun and ducked beneath the grasping arms and scurried up the stairs, barricading herself within the quiet dark of the bedroom.

_He won't come up here and wake the children._

"Mum?" came a sleepy whine.

"Go back to sleep, Kaylie-love. Everything's all right."

The phone had stopped ringing, but Melissa ducked into the closet, turning on the bare overhead bulb. She slid down the wall to sit on the floor, Kaylie's dresses brushing the top of her head. Flipping open the phone, she noted the number and the name. "Oh, Scott," she whispered as she called him back.

"Scott Tracy speaking." His voice, so strong, so firm, so essentially _male,_ heartened Melissa just by hearing it. "Mel? Is that you?"

"Yes, Scott. I'm sorry I didn't answer your call right away, but I was arguing with my da. He... he tried to take the phone away."

"Is that why you're talking so softly?" Scott asked, frowning. He hadn't thought that his little gift would cause her so much trouble. Then again, from what he was discovering about Aidan O'Connor just by dealing with the man, he wasn't terribly surprised either.

"Yes... no... sort of. I'm in my bedroom closet and I don't want to wake Kaylie," she explained. "He won't come in and chance waking the children."

"Good. I'm sorry for not getting back to you sooner, but things have been hectic here for the past couple of days," he explained. "In fact, I'm due in an important meeting in...," he glanced at his watch, "fifteen minutes. How can I help you?"

"Oh, Scott, just get me out of here!" Melissa cried. "I can't deal with this anymore. I want to go home. We've been gone far too long."

"Okay, okay!" Scott took a moment to think. "When does your dad go into work?"

It was Melissa's turn to frown. "He's not at work until ten, but he leaves the house around eight or half eight. He likes to stop and visit some of his old friends along the way."

"So, if I have a courier at your house around ten, he shouldn't be there?"

Melissa nodded. "That's right."

"Can you be ready by ten?"

"Ready?"

"Yes, packed and ready to go home."

Melissa was surprised. "I – I suppose I can be."

"All right. You pack up your kids and be ready to go. Have all your identification handy. There will be someone at your father's door at ten to take you to the airport."

"Scott! I can't afford..."

He cut her off. "I can. I'll set it up. Is your visa to Ireland open-ended?"

"I think so... yes. Yes, it is."

Scott smiled at her. "Good. Since you're a citizen of Unity City, you won't need a visa to get back there. Just your identification."

"Oh, Scott. You don't know what a weight you're lifting," Melissa said, sounding relieved and tearful at the same time.

"Hey, hey! Don't go to pieces on me now," Scott said gently. "We'll get you out of there as soon as possible." He smiled again, ruefully this time. "I was hoping to get out and fly you and the kids home myself, but... it's just not possible right now."

"I understand," Melissa replied, wiping her eyes. "When _can_ you come? I know you need to get the legal procedings started."

"I'm hoping that maybe I can carve some time out next week. We'll see."

"Let me know when you're coming," Melissa told him. "You can stay with us."

Scott chuckled. "Thanks for the offer. I might take you up on it." He glanced at his watch. "I've got to go; my father's expecting me." He grinned. "Two peas in a pod, huh, Mel? Both under the thumbs of our dads."

"I'm sure that yours is a whole lot more understanding than mine," she said wearily.

"Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Listen, call me if there are any problems, and in any case, call me when you get home, okay?"

"I will." Melissa choked back a small sob. "Thanks, Scott. You don't know what this means."

"I have an idea," he replied, nodding. " Now, I really have to go. Bye, Mel."

"Bye, Scott."

The call ended, and Melissa closed the phone. For a moment, she sat there, still and quiet, trying to get hold of herself. Then she sniffed, wiped her eyes again, and stood. Opening the door, she turned off the light, and set her alarm clock for early in the morning. She knew she had a lot of work ahead of her.

xxxx

Scott was the last one in the lounge for the meeting. John's portrait was already active, and Jeff was shuffling some papers around, putting them in a neat pile. Penelope was there, sitting in a chair near the desk, while Lou was sitting at the other end of the room. There was a chair open next to Penelope, and Scott made his way over to it.

Finally, Jeff was ready. He cleared his throat, and stood up.

"Thank you all for being here. I want to remind you that since we are using our communications system, code names should be used whenever necessary." He held out the small pile of papers to Scott. "Please hand these out, Alpha."

Scott glanced down to see a list of numbers, and by those numbers, some names – a couple of them familiar to him. He gave a sheet to Penelope, then moved around the room, passing them out.

Jeff came out from behind the desk to stand before it. He smiled warmly. "First of all, I want to give you some good news. Yesterday, Pink Lady informed me that she wishes to remain as an agent. Nosey, also, wishes to continue working with us. I hope you are all as relieved and happy as I am about this decision."

There was a murmur of approval, and most everyone smiled at Lady Penelope, who nodded regally. When the murmur had died down, and Scott was finished with his task, Jeff spoke again. "As of last evening, I have heard from all of the agents in our network. The final communiqué came during the rescue, and I noted the response and filed it. The page you have before you is a final list of the agents who have decided to part company with us." He turned to John. "If you will check your email, Epsilon, you will find I've sent you a copy, too."

"F-A-B, Commander," John said, leaning over and out of the picture to check the computer screen.

"Out of our two hundred and seven... excuse me, two hundred and _eight_ agents," he nodded at Lou, who smiled slightly, "twelve have decided to end their association with us. You will see that Agent 204, who is in our midst, is one of those agents. I understand his reasons. They are valid, and I hope you will join me in wishing him the very best in his future endeavors. I also hope that you all will realize that, although he is no longer an agent, he is still a friend, and welcome here."

There was another murmur of voices, and Alan put a hand on Kenny's shoulder, squeezing it and giving his old friend a smile.

Jeff waited for those in the room to turn their attention back to him, and continued. "Of the remaining agents, twenty-one have indicated they'd rather limit their duties to information gathering. Their names are also on this list." He smiled wryly. "Fortunately for us, none of the technical team are part of either group, so we don't have to train anyone to replace them. Though I think it would be wise to bring a few more people in to help them on a temporary basis. They will be very busy over the next few months and they do have lives of their own. Rho, would please you see who among the remaining agents might be quickly brought up to speed for this project?"

"F-A-B," Brains said, adding the request to his PDA.

Jeff moistened his lips with his tongue and took a deep breath before plunging into what he had to say next. "When I offered the choice of staying or leaving to our agents, Delta brought up something that made me think. He wondered why I hadn't given you, our operatives, that same choice." He began to pace slowly in front of his desk, his arms folded. "I mentioned that I _had_ given you all the choice; once during the preparatory stages, when I first asked you to sign on to my dream, and again before we started operations."

Unfolding his arms and putting his hands in his pockets, Jeff stopped to lean up against the desk, gazing down for a moment as he paused to gather his thoughts. Then he looked up and made eye contact with each person in the room, turning slightly to do the same to John. "It became clear to me that it was necessary that you, our operatives, the heart of International Rescue, have that same choice again. So I am giving it to you now."

There were gasps of surprise and almost everyone began to speak, but Jeff put up his hand for silence. When things were quiet again, he said, "This was a difficult decision for me to make. But because I... love... you all, I can't stand in your way should you decide that your life's course is taking you away from IR. I _refuse_ to stand in your way if you no longer believe in the dream, or if you are weary in spirit from following it." He waved a hand expansively. "This includes all of you operatives, and those of you who might be considered our support personnel." He nodded at Penelope, then Lou, then Kenny. "Our agents have made their choices."

Putting up his hand again, he added, "I don't want you to give me your answer here, or now. I don't want anyone to feel pressured by the decisions of others. Take time to think about it, then tell me when you're ready, and we'll talk about it privately." He snorted a small laugh, remembering Virgil's comment. "Before you ask the most obvious question, yes, this_ is_ your real commander speaking. I haven't been abducted by aliens and replaced."

Those in the room chuckled, and John actually laughed aloud. Jeff waited for the sound to die, then went on in a more somber tone. "I assure you that this is a serious offer, and one I do not make lightly. I know full well that one or more of you could decide that you are through with IR. Do I know what I'd do in that contingency? I have some ideas, but nothing in concrete." He shook his head. "Please, think about it in regards to your own needs, your own life. Then we'll talk."

He stood upright, facing a group of shell-shocked family members and friends. "That's all I have to say. This meeting is adjourned."

The people in the room looked at one another, then Scott stood. "Adjourned? Not by a long shot."


	20. It has to do with you, all of you

_Author's Note:_ Scott has his say, and makes some arrangements. Jeff elaborates. Alan and Tin-Tin head out. Penny asks a pertinent question. The senators from Great Britain confer. John listens to Gordon's musings. Kyrano has tea. Thanks to Hobbeth for being a sounding board and for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

Jeff gazed at his eldest, whose frowning expression showed both anger and confusion in equal measure. He opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it and waved a hand toward his son. "You have the floor, Alpha." 

Scott blinked. He'd expected his father to protest, to defend this sudden and, to him, dangerous action, so Jeff's response took some of the wind out of his sails. He took a deep, calming breath, and asked in a more reasonable tone, "Why?"

The silvered eyebrows went up; now Jeff was the puzzled one. "Why what?"

"Why the offer? Why _now_?" Scott asked, his voice urgent. "Does it have to do with Pete? Or with..." His voice trailed off as he glanced over at Lou, and suddenly remembered what she'd said about not waving their relationship in Penelope's face. He changed tacks. "We've all made it clear that we're in this for the long haul, Dad. You didn't need to do this."

It was Virgil who spoke up. "I thought he was pretty clear, _Alpha_." He added a touch of emphasis to Scott's code name; his brother's passion-driven neglect of this protocol hadn't escaped him. "He offered it to us to be fair. We deserve the same choice that the agents have had."

Jeff held up a hand. "In answer to your questions, Alpha, yes, this has to do with Agent 53's death, just as my offer to the other agents did." He nodded at Virgil. "It also has to do with being fair. It's not fair for those on the periphery, as it were, to be offered something that the heart of IR is not. But more than that, it has to do with _you_, all of you." He looked around the room again. "I've expected a lot of you since we started operations, not least of which has been a sacrifice of your own needs to the needs of the organization. I'm not just talking about socially, but also about ideologically as well." Sighing, he leaned back against his desk, his hands on the surface and his arms supporting his weight. "Some of the agents who have severed ties with us did so because of the risks involved." His eyes flicked to Kenny, who looked down. "Some asked to leave because they didn't feel they were contributing enough. But a few decided that they could no longer support our cause with a clear conscience. And I respect that. I respect _all_ of those reasons."

"But when all is said and done, this dream..." Jeff straightened again and motioned to the room, to the people in it, to the portraits on the wall. "... is uniquely mine. I don't want to sound selfish or self-serving; it's just a fact. And if any of you feel you can't support that dream, if your conscience won't let you rest because you feel what we're doing here is wrong or worthless, then step out. Yet I want to be perfectly clear; I'm _not_ talking about disagreeing with me personally on specific decisions I've made. Those conflicts will rise from time to time, and we will deal with them when they do. But if you see that my dream is heading in a direction that you can't wholeheartedly support, then I can't ask you to stay. And I won't."

He paused, swallowed, and glanced down. His eyes stung and his voice became thick as he added, "And... if you feel that you can't reconcile having a spouse and children with working in IR, then I won't stand in the way of your happiness, either." He paused again, composing himself. Then he looked up once more, smiling wryly, his eyes resting on Alan and Tin-Tin. "But, as I said to Delta, I'll do my damnedest to convince you otherwise."

Turning to Scott, who still stood, his arms by his sides, Jeff asked, "Does that answer your questions, Alpha?"

Scott nodded slowly. "Yes, it does, Commander." He sat down, discreetly rubbing sweaty palms on his pant legs.

"Any other questions?" Jeff made eye contact with them all again, one by one. As he did, they either shook their head or uttered a quiet, "no".

"Then please remember that I'd like to talk to each of you _privately_ about this, sometime over the next couple of weeks. We'll also discuss the status of the agents that you personally recommended." He nodded, then moved back behind his desk, but did not sit. "Thank you for your time. This meeting is adjourned."

This time there was no objection, and people began to get up. Kyrano looked a little dazed, and shook his head. Gordon stretched with a noisy yawn and the popping of joints, then moved to help his grandmother rise. Alan, Tin-Tin, and Kenny made their way to the desk, as did Virgil. Jeff quickly glanced at the portraits; John had cut off communications without a word.

"Wow, that was some bombshell you dropped, Dad!" Alan said, shaking his head. "I... I never thought I'd hear that from you." He smiled sheepishly. "You've certainly given me some food for thought."

"Given _both_ of us something to think about," Tin-Tin softly corrected. She looked up at Alan. "I'm sure we'll be discussing it on our trip."

"Yeah, we've got to get going, and take Kenny back to civilization." Alan hooked a thumb back at his friend. "Just wanted to say goodbye."

"Right." Jeff came out from behind his desk again, and offered his son a brief, awkward hug and a thump on the back. He embraced Tin-Tin gingerly but with warmth, then firmly shook Kenny's hand. "Goodbye, and be careful, all of you. Don't forget, Kenny. You are still welcome here."

"I won't forget," Kenny assured him. The trio turned to make their farewells to the rest of the room's occupants, starting with Virgil.

As they moved farther from the desk, Virgil turned Jeff, who had wearily returned to his chair at last. "Hey, Dad?"

"Yes, Virgil?" Jeff looked up with a questioning expression.

Virgil smiled. "You sure know how to throw a party." When he'd gotten the tentative smile from his father that he'd been aiming for, he added, "My former answer still stands."

Jeff nodded. "I'll remember that. We'll still need to discuss the agents you recommended."

"Sure, Dad. Just name the time." Virgil turned to find Lou at his elbow. "Be with you in a moment, Aunt Lou." He swung back to his father. "I hope it all works out, Dad."

"I hope so, too, Virgil." He glanced up at Lou, who smiled back. "What can I help you with?

"At the moment, nothing. I have some work to do and Virgil's going to help me get set up. I'll see you later on." She reached out to give his hand a quick, reassuring squeeze, then turned to catch up with Virgil.

Eleanor was next to speak to Jeff. "Never thought I'd see the day, or hear it for that matter. I hope you know what you're doing, son."

"So do I, Ma. So do I."

Penelope watched from where she now stood, not far from Jeff's desk. She had noticed Scott's swift look from Jeff to Lou when he asked his questions and the way he just as quickly dropped whatever he was going to ask. Alan and Tin-Tin came over with Kenny to tender their farewells.

"I'm sure we'll see you when we get back," Tin-Tin said.

"Of course, my dear. I shall be here. And hopefully you'll be flaunting something shiny and tasteful on your finger, too." Penelope embraced her friend, then kissed her on both cheeks. "Be careful." She nodded to Alan, then smiled at Kenny. "Mr. Malone, I must thank you again for all the work you did repairing and refurbishing my Rolls."

"You're welcome, your Ladyship," Kenny said, returning her smile. "It was a real challenge to work on. But nearly everything's back in place and working the way it should."

"I was sad to hear that you are leaving our ranks; it will be a terrible loss for International Rescue."

Kenny's smile faded. "Yes, I know it will. But I also know that I'm making the right choice for me and my family." He held out his hand. "It was nice meeting you, your Ladyship."

Penelope took his hand briefly. "Thank you, Kenny. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance as well. Please have a pleasant journey back to your family." She turned to Alan. "Alan, dear boy, please be careful and return as soon as is feasible." Wagging a finger at him, she added, "Listen to Tin-Tin. She will make certain you choose something appropriate."

Alan chuckled. "I will, Penelope. It will give me some practice for the future."

"In choosing something appropriate?" she asked.

He chuckled. "No, in listening to her." Tin-Tin rolled her eyes and smacked him on the upper arm.

"Excellent decision, Alan," Penelope replied, smiling widely. "Farewell."

Alan gave her a little wave, then the trio started for the study, where Kyrano waited. Penelope glanced at Jeff just then and saw the quick reassurance pass between him and Lou, then Virgil and her rival moved past her, already in discussion. Eleanor stepped up to speak with her son, and someone touched Penelope's shoulder. It was Scott.

"Lady Penelope, I'd like to have a word with you sometime soon," he said, a serious expression on his face.

"Certainly, but perhaps later this afternoon? I am waiting to speak with your father."

Scott glanced up at Jeff, who was on his feet, giving Eleanor a heartfelt hug. He sighed, and said, "I was hoping to speak to my father now, too, but... ladies first. Besides, I have a few phone calls to make."

"Then please, join me at four o'clock for tea," Penny responded.

Scott nodded, looking pleased. "Four, it is. I'll see you then." He watched as his grandmother turned to leave and crossed the room to join her. Gordon and Brains were leaving together; they were examining the list of agents and pointing out names to each other. Penelope watched them all go, then turned back to the desk. Jeff was standing at the safe, putting a piece of paper inside. He closed the safe, gave her a little glance, then set the lock before directing his attention to her once more. "What is it, Penny?"

Penelope sat down again gracefully, crossing one knee over the other and smoothing her pink linen skirt. She straightened her shoulders, taking a deep breath without having seemed to do so, and asked coolly, "I should like to hear from you what your specific objections are to our pursuing a romantic relationship."

xxxx

Seven-thirty in the evening and Addison Kennicot was finishing her dinner. She was distracted at the table, a fact that her elder son remarked on.

"Mummy? What's the matter?"

"Oh, yes? What?"

The eight-year-old frowned at her. "You weren't listening, Mummy. I was trying to tell you about the gecko! It got out of its box in Mrs. Prymm's room and came to ours. Mr. De Gannes was so funny! He saw it and screamed like a girl! Mrs. Prymm had to come with the caretaker and catch it."

Addison smiled benignly. "It must have been very exciting." She picked up a bite with her fork and ate it without tasting it.

"It was! Everyone was talking about it!" He cocked his head at her, his brow wrinkling as he asked, "What's wrong, Mummy? You're acting funny tonight."

She sat up straight, took in a deep breath without looking as if she had, and smiled wider. "I am simply thinking of something from my work, Julian. I will put it away and listen to your story. What kind of gecko was it? Where did it go?"

Satisfied that he had his mother's attention, Julian proceeded to embellish the story, giving as many details as he could and even adding voices. Six-year-old Barrett added his voice and corrected his brother whenever he felt correction was necessary. The tale might have devolved into an argument had Addison not skillfully deflected her sons' attention to other matters.

Dinner ended, and Addison had a few moments of peace as the au pair helped the boys bathe and dress for bed. She took a cup of coffee to her office and sat behind her desk, turning over in her mind what her colleague, Britain's senior senator, had told her earlier that day.

"I do not like it," Lord Silton said emphatically when they met in the privacy of his posh office. It was furnished like a old, stereotypical men's club, all leather and dark wood, and Addison was grateful for the comfortable chair and the cup of strong tea. He continued, "International Rescue has done a splendid job rescuing those who had no other hope. I think they deserve anonymity if that is what they desire."

"I agree, your Lordship," Addison replied respectfully. "But this bill has yet to reach the Senate floor. It may well die in committee."

"An outcome devoutly to be wished, m'dear, but one I fear will not to come to pass. With his Excellency pushing the bill so hard and Senator Zenith's support, we will see it on the Senate floor ere long." Silton paused and took a long draught on his pipe. "If I knew how to contact International Rescue and let them know of this development, I would do so."

"I understand that to summon their aid, all that is needed is a radio transmission," Addison explained.

"Yes, I had heard that. In fact, we had International Rescue in while I was president of the Bank." He looked pensive. "I must ask Lovegrove just how he summoned them."

"I have a friend who might know," Addison ventured. "They recently rescued her from a rather nasty situation involving pirates."

Silton smiled. "Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward?"

"Yes." Addison was surprised at his guess.

"I had heard of her difficulties. I didn't realize you and she were acquainted."

"We were at school together."

"Ah, I see." Silton straightened in his chair. "I should ring her up for old times' sake. She and her rascal of a butler, Parker, helped get the Bank a new, up-to-date vault." He smiled again and chuckled. "Which that rogue promptly opened with one of her hairpins."

"Clever man," Addison replied. She sighed, and shrugged. "Even if we are able to warn them of this development, what can they do? Unless they have people of their own in the government... people who could kill the legislation..." She stopped and shook her head, frowning. "No. I believe them when they say they are neutral. Their actions over the years have spoken much louder than any words."

They sat in silence for a few moments, then Silton sighed. "I agree with you, m'dear. They are men and women of the highest caliber and would not stoop to partisan politics, even in their own interest." He paused, looking pensive, and took another long draught on his pipe. "Since we do not believe they would play the political game, we shall have to play it for them."

He leaned forward, and poked a thin finger on his desk's surface. "This is what I believe we should do. I shall try to stall the bill in committee and gain enough votes to kill it there, if possible. You call Lady Penelope and see if she can help you contact International Rescue, then act upon whatever she advises. Meanwhile, we should prepare to fight the bill on the Senate floor should it escape committee." He pursed his lips and shook his head. "Oh, there are times I wish we had allowed the American Senate's version of filibuster. I could hold forth for hours on a variety of subjects. But if pressed, I could possibly talk out the bill on its own merits by bringing up International Rescue's many feats of heroism."

"Still, it would be better if we could defeat it before it reaches the floor," Addison said with a smile. "As much as I would enjoy the speech..."

Silton laughed aloud. "Then that settles it. If we cannot kill this in committee, we will filibuster it, but _you_ shall do the speaking!"

Addison had joined in the laughter, though the thought of speaking at such length as to talk out a bill was rather intimidating. But when she arrived home, she had realized again the full implications of the proposed legislation, and they troubled her.

Her reverie was interrupted by the arrival of the au pair. "Madame?"

"Yes, Adeola?"

"The children are ready for their story."

"Thank you. I shall be up directly." _And I shall call Penelope directly afterwards._ Addison put down her cup and saucer, and put aside her worries as she changed roles once more and went upstairs to finish her sons' bedtime routine.

xxxx

She sat on the balcony of the flat, the little phone, freshly recharged, in her hands. Her boyfriend had brought her to his place; there were members of the press waiting at her apartment, harassing her roommates, hoping to get a word or two from her about her ordeal. She wasn't ready to talk about it and really didn't know if she ever would be.

Turning the slim silver thing over and over in her hands, she tried to decide whether or not to do what she was contemplating. _Will the phone call reach him? Will he respond? What if he is in the middle of helping someone else? I couldn't possibly take him away from that._

She opened it up, and turned it on. She stared at the blue screen for a long moment, biting her lower lip. Then she took a deep breath, and pressed the keys to redial the last number received.

xxxx

John sat forward in his chair, an elbow on one of the chair's arms, his chin in his hand. He was still shocked at his father's speech, still reeling from the offer that had been made.

"Of all the crazy things for him to do," he murmured. "Doesn't he know what will happen if any one of us leaves?" He sat back slowly. "Of course he does. He knows very well what would happen."

"Thunderbird Five from base. Do you read, Thunderbird Five?"

Jeff's voice brought John upright. He shook his head, and finally focused on the control room around him. He reached out for his microphone, and activated the video link.

"Thunderbird Five here, reading you strength five."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Five." Jeff looked strained and tired. John could see Lady Penelope sitting, poised, elegant and looking a mite impatient, in the background. "Is everything all right up there, Epsilon?"

"All systems A-OK, base." John was baffled at his father's question.

"Acknowledged, Epsilon. I was concerned since you didn't sign off according to protocol."

John stopped for a moment to think, then colored. "Uh, oh, sorry about that, Commander. I was rather... stunned."

Jeff nodded slowly. "Ah, now I understand. Just as long as everything is all right..." His comment sounded more like a question than a statement.

"All systems are green across the board, Commander. Including me. Thanks for checking in."

"F-A-B, Epsilon. I'll speak with you later. Base out."

Jeff's picture winked out, and John shook his head. "I really was in la-la land for a bit there, wasn't I?" Standing, he stretched, raising his arms well above his head and standing on his toes. His interlaced fingers brushed the ceiling and he let out a sharp groan before settling back down, relaxing his muscles.

_Need something to drink_. He headed for the galley, rolling his head around on his neck and shrugging his shoulders to get the kinks out. Instead of taking the lift, he opted for the ladder near it, dropping to the lower deck four rungs from the bottom. His boots rang against the metal flooring and tapped a muted, even beat as he rounded the relatively spacious corridor to the galley. The cryofridge unit was still full of lemonade, one of Alan's favorites, but he dug around until he found some orange juice, cold and refreshing. While he sipped it, he gazed around the galley. _What would I do? What would I do if I left IR?_

His watch began beeping, and he activated it. Gordon's face appeared, an uncharacteristically small smile on his face.

"Hey, Ep."

John chuckled. Picking up on Gordon's cue, he replied, "Hey, Ohmmmmm." He drew out the syllable to make it sound like a stereotypical mantra.

"Cute," Gordon replied, snorting a laugh. He paused, then asked bluntly, "What did you think about the C.O.'s offer?"

John shook his head. "I haven't thought much about it at all. I've been too gobsmacked to give it serious consideration."

"Does that mean you won't be giving it serious consideration?"

"No, it doesn't," John replied. "I just need to get the fact that he's made it into my head before I can."

"Oh, I see." Gordon reached up to scratch his scalp. "I guess you haven't thought about what you might do if you... left."

"No, not really. Not yet. But I've been asking myself the question."

"That's a start, I suppose."

John gave his brother's image a keen look. "Have _you_ been thinking about it?"

Gordon glanced away briefly, then nodded. "Yeah. I've been thinking about nothing else," he said in a low voice.

"Come to any conclusions?"

"Well, I can't go back to WASP. A medical discharge is pretty final. But there's that undersea colony; I understand that they've evacuated it. It'll need rebuilding or retrofitting and it'd be a project I could really sink my teeth into. I could go back to school, maybe pick up a degree in record time... then maybe teach." He shrugged. "There are loads of small research projects that could use an experienced diver or submariner."

"Problem is, you can't use your IR experience on a resumé," John said.

"Yeah, but I've been keeping up my training, my licensing, my diving outside of IR; I could always put that on a resumé."

"True. And once you got in on a few projects, you'd have the experience you'd need to pick and choose." John leaned against the galley's cabinetry. "Are you seriously thinking about this?"

Gordon nodded. "To some extent, yeah, I am." He made a face, a sort of screwed up and thoughtful expression. "I dunno. Maybe I'm just covering all my options, daydreaming about what I could possibly do."

John considered that for a moment, then asked, "Is there something about IR that's bothering you? Something about the direction it's taking? Or is there someone out there that you're thinking about?"

His brother was silent for so long that John was afraid he'd offended him. Just as he was about to apologize, Gordon spoke. His voice was low, and he spoke slowly, as if he wanted to make sure he had just the right words to communicate his thoughts.

"I guess that I'm having trouble with... with the shooting. The loss of life that's happened in some of our rescues. The saboteur in the wing of the Fireflash... the shootout in the Anderbad tunnel... this recent thing with that kidnapper... I feel like I've done more shooting and, well, _killing _since I've been with IR than I did in my time with WASP. And I'm not the only one. We're a rescue organization, for God's sake, but we've been sent after saboteurs and terrorists and... and it just doesn't feel _right_." He smiled crookedly. "I have to admit there's a girl out there that I'd like to know better. Take out on dates and such." His smile fell and he shrugged. "But there's no time for that. There's never any time." He looked away, his eyes unfocused. "Maybe I'm being selfish, but I'd like a chance to do something away from IR. Not be looked at as some leech living off Da - I mean, the Commander's money."

John nodded, quietly digesting what his brother had told him. "Have you talked to him about this?"

"No." Gordon shook his head emphatically. "I guess I'll get my chance soon. But I want to have a decision made _before_ I go and see him."

"I can understand that. You want all your ducks in a row before you discuss it." John paused, then added, "Just don't miss the forest for the trees, okay?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gordon asked, raising an eyebrow, a touch of sarcasm in his tone.

"Well," John was now the one to think carefully about his words, "I guess I don't want you to forget the good that IR has done, thatyou _personally _have done as an operative. Yes, you shot a saboteur in the wing of the Fireflash. You also rescued two pilots in one that had gone down, not to mention Alpha and the pilot who was with him during the test flight. You also - by extension - kept hundreds of people from dying like those in that first sabotaged flight did."

John was warming up to his subject now. "Yes, you shot some people in the Anderbad tunnel. But you rescued Professor Borrender and Sir Jeremy, and kept the rocket fuel formula out of the hands of God knows who. Not to mention the people you've saved where you _haven't_ had to go in with guns blazing. When you make your decision, just don't forget that, because it's relevant to that very big step you'd be taking." He smiled at his brother. "You've always been the one to go your own way, ever since you were little. And I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you'd put such serious thought into this. In fact, I'm _not_ surprised." He huffed out a laugh. "Now if Alpha comes to me and starts saying this kind of stuff, that _will_ surprise me."

"Him? He'll never quit." Gordon agreed, grinning. "Hey, Ep, thanks for listening, and for the advice. I appreciate it."

"No trouble, that's what br... damn." John shook his head with frustration, then sighed. "That's what I'm here for – among other things."

"Right. Listen, if you need someone to bounce things off of, just call."

"I'll remember that. By the way, who's the girl?"

"Nobody you'd know," Gordon said smugly.

John lifted one blond eyebrow. "Oh, really? Hmm. You've set me a challenge then: to find out who this mystery woman is."

"Give it your best shot, Ep," Gordon challenged. "I doubt even you can find out who she is on your own."

"We'll see about that." John winked at his younger brother. "I'd better get back to work. Have a good day, Ohmmmmm."

"I'm gonna ask to have that changed," Gordon promised himself. "See ya."

"Bye." John ended the conversation. He finished his juice, then headed back to the upper level, taking the lift this time so he had a few moments to turn the conversation over in his head. _Gordon's given me a lot to think about. It would be hard for Dad to replace him, but if he had to, I suppose he could. I don't think it would be as hard to replace me; the station could probably be automated with Alan and Scott taking on all the space rescues. Still, I want to have a good, solid **reason** for quitting... if I decide that way._

As he entered the control room, he noticed that the recorder had been activated while he was on his way up. A familiar, female voice haltingly called, "International Rescue? Mr. Thunderbird, are you there?"

John stopped in his tracks to stare at the machine. "What the hell? Miss Hansa?"

xxxx

"I need you there by ten o'clock on the dot," Scott said brusquely. Getting tickets for Melissa and her children was the easy part; he was willing to pay whatever it cost to send her home as soon as possible, and in style. The hard part was finding a reputable, bonded, courier service that would take his order after midnight for the same day. He tried three or four until he found the one he was working with now. He only hoped that they would be able to carry out their commission; he was paying them handsomely.

"All right. I'll be checking back with my friend, and asking her how your people treated her and how your service was," Scott warned the man on the other end. "If there are any complaints, you'll hear from me." He knew it would be hard to prove any malfeasance, and it had taken a good while to convince the man that the Tracy he was talking to was "one of _those_ Tracys". The check that the manager ran against Scott's credit card went a long way in establishing his _bona fides_. _I wonder how many people have claimed to be from our family and gotten first-class service, tricking the vendors into thinking they were dealing with us,_ he thought idly. _There's got to be somebody out there who's done it, and succeeded._

His man was back on the phone. "Right," Scott replied. "Ten in the morning, with the forwarded ticket numbers. Four people, plus luggage, to the Derry airport. Got it? Good. And thanks."

He hung up, then forwarded the ticket information by email to the courier, and sent a text message to Melissa as well, confirming the itinerary and giving her the invoice numbers so that she could check them for herself. Then he sat back with a relieved sigh. He knew he wouldn't be completely at ease until he heard from her again, but at least he had done what he'd said he would.

Stretching his arms, Scott stood, and covered his mouth as he yawned widely. "I think I need some coffee," he muttered. "Then maybe I can find Virgil. I think I need to talk about this whole situation, and do it before I have tea with Penelope."

With that, he left his sitting room and headed down to the kitchen. Kyrano was already beginning preparations for dinner, and looked up as Scott walked in.

"I'm just here for a cup of coffee, Kyrano," Scott said, smiling. He picked up a mug from beside the coffee carafe and poured out a steaming portion, then fixed it to his liking. "Did Alan and Tin-Tin get off okay?"

Kyrano nodded. "Yes. They did." He shook his head slightly, frowning. Scott was puzzled; the retainer almost looked distracted.

"Is everything all right, Kyrano?" he asked, concerned. "You don't seem yourself."

The Malaysian breathed in heavily, just once, and turned to Scott. "I am... confused. And shocked. I never thought your father would say the things he did today. I am not sure how to respond."

"I understand," Scott replied. He took a sip of his drink and added, "I think that once we get over being astonished, we can think more clearly on what to say and do."

"This is true, but I am disturbed by the direction my thoughts are taking." Kyrano opened the cryofridge, and stared inside it for what seemed to be a long time. Then he closed it without removing anything. He did the same for the pantry, then finally shook his head and sat down on a tall kitchen stool. "I cannot function this way."

Scott felt uncomfortable giving advice to a man who he considered to be very wise and perceptive. But he had an inkling of how Kyrano probably felt, and decided to take action. He made sure the kettle was full, and put it on, then went in search of Kyrano's special herbal tea blends. Checking the canisters, he found the one he wanted, one of his own favorites when he needed soothing, and he began to set up the teapot.

As he did, Kyrano noticed, and began to help him, then took over the task completely. All Scott had to do was get the kettle when it whistled, and pour in the hot water. The teacups were already out, as were napkins, spoons, and some thin spice cookies that Kyrano liked with his tea. Scott poured his coffee into the sink, and joined the older man as he poured out.

"Thank you, Mr. Scott," the retainer said with a slight smile. "I needed something specific to focus on, and this tea is exactly what I required." He sipped, sighed, then asked, "What do you think of your father's offer?"

Scott paused for a moment, then said frankly, "I think it's dangerous, very dangerous."

Kyrano frowned. "How so?"

"It shows a change of heart on his part, an acknowledgment that perhaps something is wrong with his dream, with what we're doing here. And I'm not so sure that his motives are quite as lily-white as he makes them sound."

"You think he has an ulterior motive?"

"Maybe." Scott sipped his drink, savoring the blend of leaves and spices. "He's moving on in his life in some ways, and might find IR to be a burden."

Kyrano shook his head firmly. "I do not believe that of your father. Whether his sons support him, whether or not _any_ of us support him, I believe he would go on with his dream. It would have to alter to accommodate the changes, the new people he would bring in, but he would not drop International Rescue."

"Even if all of us tell him that there's something wrong?" Scott asked, a troubled look on his face.

"Even so," Kyrano answered. "But he would change what needed to be changed in order to correct the error. He is a man who sees his dream as an ideal, yet he is realist enough to know that one can never truly reach an ideal, only reach _for_ it."

"I still think the offer's dangerous," Scott murmured.

"Again, I ask: why?"

Scott swallowed his mouthful of tea, then sighed deeply. "It's dangerous, because I'm thinking of taking him up on it."


	21. This is your decision to make

_Author's Note:_ Jeff explains some truths to Penelope. Lou shows Virgil another threat to IR security. John deals with Miss Hansa. Scott unburdens to Kyrano, and the time has come for Melissa to leave for home. Thanks to Hobbeth for being a sounding board and betareading, to FrankieC being an extra sounding board, and to Bluegrass for checking some of my Irish dialect.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

If Jeff was surprised or shocked by Penelope's question, he didn't show it. "Excuse me a moment, Penny. I need to check in with John." He activated the communications bank. "Thunderbird Five from base. Do you read, Thunderbird Five?" 

John responded, and the two men had a quick conversation while Penelope waited, examining her nails, and trying to look blasé. She noticed that John didn't say anything to her at all, but then, the two men weren't exactly having a social call. Jeff ended the conversation as quickly as he could, but before he could turn to her, there was another distraction.

"JT-1 asking permission to depart." Tin-Tin sounded relaxed and happy.

Jeff turned to Penelope again. "Excuse me again, Penny." She nodded, and he leaned over the microphone. "Permission granted, Tin-Tin. Be careful and come back as soon as possible. Call when you get there." Jeff's face was angled away from Penelope now, but his voice sounded so warm and full of affection, that Penelope took a shuddery deep breath and let it out slowly and soundlessly.

"Yes, sir. We will."

"I'll hold you to that. Goodbye for now."

"Goodbye. JT-1 out."

The radio connection went dead, and Jeff took a deep breath of his own. Penny watched as his shoulders rose and dropped, dropped perhaps a bit more than could be blamed on mere exhalation. She noticed, for the first time, the perspiration marks on his collared shirt and wondered if the air conditioner was malfunctioning. Then he shrugged as if to release tension, and turned. He came around the desk and leaned on it much as he had during his earlier speech.

"So, you want to discuss why I'm not pursuing a relationship with you." The statement was bald, and his whole mien was sober. Penelope knew that he regarded her question with the proper seriousness.

She sat up straighter and regarded him coolly. "Yes. The day that you made it apparent that you were not... interested, we did not have an opportunity to discuss your reasons." Swallowing, she directed her eyes towards the portraits, not really seeing them, then back to him again. "In my conversation with Mrs. Myles last night, she intimated that you had several specific reasons and that you had discussed them with _her_."

Jeff opened his mouth, but she put up a hand. "She did tell me what physical condition you were in when you spoke to her, so I am willing to forgive such an ugly breach of manners. And I do realize that, at the time in question, I was not in any emotional condition to discuss such a matter." She raised her head regally and looked him in the eye. "I am ready to hear your reasons now, if you are ready to give them."

He said nothing at first, just pushed off from his position at the desk to slowly pace the length of the room, his hands in his pockets, not looking at her. He took a hand out to smooth over the edge of Virgil's piano when he reached it, and kept it out to rub his chin with as he changed direction and came back toward the desk. Suddenly, he stopped across from her, and gave her a keen glance. His impassive face took on a frown of irritation and displeasure, a tiny change of expression, really, but one Penny could read like a book. _Don't think for a moment that you are ducking this conversation, Mr. Tracy,_ she thought firmly. _I will have my say._

Finally, he sighed, a noisy exhalation, almost a sputtering. He swept his arm toward her, and said, "All right, Penny. You win." He glanced at the couch beside him, considering it as a perch, but went back to the desk and leaned against it instead, his arms folded over his chest. There was a pause while he gathered his thoughts, then he asked, "Do you want them in order of importance?"

"Whichever order you prefer," she replied, smoothing her skirt again, and folding her hands demurely in her lap.

"All right." He paused a moment more, then lowered his arms and tapped one forefinger on the other. "First of all, there's your age. You are young, very young, the same age as some of my sons. I am old enough to be your father. And no matter how sophisticated you act - excuse me, you _are - _I can't get past that fact. I would feel like I were romancing my own daughter."

He paused, and she nodded. "Please continue."

Nodding back, he tapped one forefinger on his outstretched fore and middle finger. "Second, is Lucille. I have grieved for her for seven years now. Some people would say that I've grieved long enough, and perhaps I have. Perhaps I am at a place in my life right now where I can let go of that grief. I say, '_perhaps_'." He sighed heavily. "Even so, she was the light of my life, and I'm not ready to forget her."

She nodded silently this time, and he put forth his ring finger, then tapped it. "Third, is Virgil. I know how he feels about you, and I could never stand in the way his happiness." His voice got softer, and Penelope glanced away briefly. "Whether or not that happiness lies with you."

There was a long silence, and Penny regarded him expectantly. He gazed back at her, then blew a breath out through his nose. The pinkie finger came out, and he said, "Finally, there's Lucinda."

When no other explanation was forthcoming, Penelope said slowly, "I see she is in the lowest place of importance. Why would that be?"

"Why do you want to know?" Jeff leaned back and folded his arms again, frowning.

Penny chose her words carefully. "To clarify things in my own mind. From your continued reluctance to speak of your relationship with her, I would have deduced that you placed a higher degree of importance on it than you do."

"To tell the truth, the degree of importance between my reasons is marginal. I've put them in the order I feel they best apply to my relationship with _you_," Jeff replied. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it mussed and slightly damp from sweat. He stood straight and held his hands out wide. "Hell. Listen, Penny. Neither Lou nor I wanted to go parading what we have together in front of you. We both knew it would be uncomfortable for all concerned. That's why I'm unwilling to talk about it." He shook his head. "Besides, it's really none of your business."

There was another moment of quiet, then Jeff sighed and smiled slightly. He moved to the chair beside her and turned so he was facing her, then he took her hand between his own. "Penny, I value you as an agent and a colleague. I consider you a close friend, and as such, I have great affection for you. When you've been in trouble, I've gone the distance to get you out of it. You are a lovely woman, and have brought a lot of light into my life. But I just can't bring myself to feel for you what you'd like me to feel. I don't have it in me."

Penny listened intently, then gently withdrew her hand. "But you have it in you to feel... whatever it is that Mrs. Myles wants you to." She cocked her head at him and frowned slightly. "Why?"

Jeff checked his sudden rise in impatience by sitting perfectly still and closing his eyes briefly. For a moment, Penelope feared he would simply clam up and dismiss her. But instead his face hardened a bit, his jaw setting into that stubborn look she knew so well, and he asked, "Why are you harping on this? Why the hell can't you leave it alone? Can't you see that I'm uncomfortable enough speaking about... these things?"

Penelope's face maintained its calm expression, but it was a mask, and her blue eyes flashed with anger. She subtly resettled herself in her chair, and her voice, usually so cool and collected, betrayed the emotions behind the façade.

"Why am I 'harping' on this, as you say?" she snapped. "Because I want to know what it is that _she_ has and I lack!" Suddenly, she was the one on her feet, facing Jeff. "For God's sake, Jeff! I fail to see what my age has to do with building a lasting relationship. Older men all over the world are involved with much younger women... and they find it quite pleasant, or so I'm told! As for Virgil, you have as much right to happiness as he has! And yes, you _have_ mourned and mooned far too long over your precious Lucille! It's time to get on in life, Jeff!"

The look of shock on his face at her outburst was quickly replaced by anger at her statement about Virgil, and the expression deepened at her reference to Lucille. Penelope's stomach turned when she realized that she had just stepped over the line. But she had done it, and she decided she'd be damned before she backpedaled or apologized.

The sudden silence was getting uncomfortable, and she opened her mouth to say something, anything, when Jeff finally had himself under enough control to speak. He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, and said in a low voice, "You want to know? You really want to know? All right. I'll tell you."

He stood, seeming to tower over her, and Penelope was taken aback at his cold control. "What does Lucinda have that you do not? For one thing, she and I have a shared past. I can talk to her about Lucille and she understands; she knows what I'm talking about because she knew Lucille. She understands why I still grieve. Then there's the fact that I feel comfortable with her. There's no pressure to be something I'm not, no pressure to do what I'd rather not do. She's willing to let me take the lead, to move things along at _my_ pace. If we just remain friends, that will be okay with her. If we go beyond friendship, that's fine with her, too. And most importantly, when I'm with her, I can put aside the IR commander, _and_ the multi-billionaire and be just... Jeff."

Penelope took a step back and put her fingers to her lips. Her expression turned to one of puzzled concern, and her voice went soft and quiet. "When... when have I ever pressured you to be something you are not, or do something you'd rather not?"

Jeff sighed, and his face looked old and weary. "The air show. I wore that suit and top hat, tried out a British accent, and must have looked and sounded a right fool for it, too. I thought I had to fit in with the people you said we'd be hobnobbing with, and it would please you if I did. And that vacation at Bongo-Bongo. God knows I needed one, yes, but I didn't appreciate being bullied into it. I was uncomfortable and antsy the whole time I was there." His voice softened. "When I went to Lou's, I felt rested, relaxed... even with the bombshell she dropped on me about Interpol, and that damned home invasion. There were two rescues during that time, and for once, I didn't feel like jumping in my jet and flying home immediately."

Penny looked stricken. She swallowed heavily, and began to say, "Jeff, I..." When she realized how emotionally raw she sounded, she stopped, cleared her throat, and began again, her voice clearer but still soft. "Jeff, you looked dashing in that suit and hat. You made me very proud and happy to be by your side." One side of her mouth quirked upward in a tiny half-smile. "I will admit, however, that the accent left much to be desired."

Her little sally broke some of the tension, and Jeff chuckled slightly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Penelope went on. "And you do admit that you needed the time away. It was your own stubbornness that made us – and, if you recall, it _was_ a group effort – 'bully' you into taking that little vacation." She shook her head. "I do regret that you could not relax at Bongo-Bongo." Glancing down, she added softly, "I had hoped at the time that we would become closer." Finally, she raised her chin resolutely and said, "With the exception of the vacation, I have never consciously tried to pressure you in the manner you describe, and I truly had no idea you felt this way."

Jeff waved a hand. "I'm sure you didn't know. I'm not exactly the most forthcoming person when it comes to my feelings. And, most likely, the pressure wasn't conscious on your part. But when I compared how I felt around you, and how I felt around Lou in a similar situation, I could see it clearly. You have high expectations of your friends, Penny. Lou seems able to make friends in all stations of life, just by treating people with dignity and respect." He sighed, his mouth twisting into a small, wry smile. "She accepts me _as I am_, warts and all." Looking at her frankly, he added, "It's something you can't seem to do."

Penelope gazed at him for a long silent moment. "I see." The cool façade was back, and so was the regal posture. "Thank you for explaining your reasons to me. I cannot say that I agree with them; but then, it is unnecessary for me to do so, isn't it? This is your decision to make, not mine."

"You're right; it is, on both counts." He leaned up against the desk again. "Still, I hope that you and Lucinda will be able to get along with each other."

"Hm. No guarantees there, I am afraid," Penelope said. "Though I am sure we can at least be civil to one another. I shall do my best in that regard." She sat back down, taking up the same posture as before. "What are your plans for her as an agent... or am I not to know?"

Jeff ignored the slightly sarcastic tone of Penny's last comment. He stopped to think for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, you should know. Right now, her job is to keep an eye on websites which might compromise our security, and disable them with malware if possible. In fact, thanks to Parker, Lou, and another woman whom I hope to bring on board as technical staff very soon, a rather thorny anti-IR website has been infiltrated and attacked with a particularly nasty virus. Lou's also giving us support and advice on matters from a law-enforcement standpoint, and she's given us some excellent ideas for tightening our security. I have other plans that will utilize her expertise in surveillance and research, but we haven't discussed them in full as of yet."

"Ah, yes. I remember the discussion we had about the security measures. They seemed straightforward for the most part. The code names, the visors and hats; all very sensible." Penny frowned slightly. "Do you think that Brains can invent a cloaking device such as the one she proposes?"

"I don't know." Jeff went back behind his desk and sat down. "But if anyone can, he can. Still, we need secure communications first and that's at the top of his 'to do' list. I think that once we bring aboard this new designer, things should proceed apace."

"Are you certain of her, this new designer?" Penny asked. "Have you performed the necessary checks? Who vouches for her as an agent?"

"Sure of her? As much as I can be, yes. I've performed the security checks, and both Brains and Lou vouch for her. All three of them were very surprised to find that they knew each other." He chuckled at his memory of the scene at the Asheville hospital. "Brains will be speaking with her in person as soon as he can, most likely after we get you and FAB-1 back to England."

"Will she be recruited for International Rescue, or for your conglomerate?" Penelope fidgeted a touch; she wanted an end to the conversation but felt she needed to know all the details.

"For IR," Jeff said.

Something in his voice caught her ear, and Penny raised a haughty eyebrow. "You sound as if you have reservations about her."

Jeff shook his head quickly. "No, none about her personally. I did want to recruit her for Tracy Industries at first, but both Brains and Lou have impressed on me that bringing her on board for IR is better." He raised his hands a little and dropped them. "They feel she would react badly to being kept in the dark about the real purpose of what she was doing." He made a rueful face. "I can see their point, but she is married and has children, and with what happened to Peter... let's just say that I'd rather protect her family if possible."

"But you are taking their advice?" Penny pressed. "Over your own misgivings?"

He paused for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. As my sons have been telling me lately, I'm not immune to making poor decisions. Brains and Lou know this woman better than I do; I trust them both to do what's best for everyone involved."

"Ah, I see." Penelope's tone indicated that though she understood, she did not approve. She smiled tightly, and glanced briefly to the wide windows. Outside, the threatened rain was now falling in a steady shower, occasionally spattering against the heavy-duty polyhexane as the wind blew it toward the house. "Is there anything else you feel we should discuss?"

"You tell me," Jeff countered. "You were the one who wanted this interview."

"Yes. I was." She stood gracefully and approached the windows, hugging her arms to herself. "I think we are finished here, in more ways than one. I think, for the present, we should keep our interactions on a more professional level."

Jeff got up from behind his desk and walked up to join her. "Penny..." he began, his tone cajoling.

"No, Jeff." Penelope shook her head emphatically, and did not look at him. "I have asked for your reasons, and you have provided them. I now know what makes me a less-than-ideal match for you, and of more importance, I have had my say. It will take me some time to recover from this rejection, and to take on board what you have told me. In the interest of civility, I feel we should remain simply colleagues until such a time when we may resume more cordial relations."

He rubbed his forehead with his fingers, then shrugged. "If that's what you want..."

"It is most assuredly not what I _want_," she said sharply, turning to face him. "But it is what must be, for now."

"And what about Virgil?"he asked, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets.

"As you put it so very succinctly, Jeff," she said with a tight smile, "that's really none of your business." She dropped her arms, and said softly, "Now, if you will please excuse me, I feel the need to retire."

Jeff wordlessly motioned with one arm toward the door to the study. Penelope nodded coolly, and left. When the door to the hallway shut behind her, he sighed heavily and turned back toward his desk. Massaging his neck with a hand, he pulled out a glass and his bottle of Scotch, pouring himself two fingers' worth and putting the bottle decisively back where it belonged. He dropped into his chair and lifted the glass to his lips. One sip, and it was back on his desk, where he stared at the amber liquid as he idly turned the glass around and around. Finally, he tossed back the rest of the Scotch and shook his head.

"Damn. That could have gone a whole lot better."

xxxx

"Hey, Aunt Lou." Virgil said congenially. "Is everything working properly?"

She looked up at him and smiled. "Yep. The link is solid, even through this weather."

He pulled a chair over to sit beside her. They were outdoors on the patio in front of the dining room, protected from the rain by the wide expanse of the lounge balcony. Lou had changed over to jeans and a pastel sweater set, and had her feet propped up on a second patio chair. The laptop was balanced on her thighs, and she was scrolling through the bookmarks she had saved. Clicking on one, she waited until the site came up, then angled the screen toward Virgil.

"Oh, God, that's funny!" he said, laughing. He leaned forward to catch each detail of the tiny Keystone-esque cops, waving their nightsticks and running across the screen after the masked bandits with their striped shirts and bags of swag. "Parker is a genius!"

"Yeah, he is, isn't he?" Lou agreed, grinning. "I would never have thought of something like that."

"Next time I'm in England, I'm going to buy that man a drink!" Virgil vowed. "There's so much more to him than meets the eye."

"You've got that right," Lou said. She moved the screen back toward herself as she scrolled down through some of her other bookmarks. "He's got quite a reputation in law enforcement circles, you know, or he had, until he went straight. Ah, here it is." She clicked on a site address, and the screen changed. A new site came up, one with a very familiar looking icon pasted on the front page.

Virgil got up to look over her shoulder. "That looks like an awfully good representation of our logo. It's not perfect, but it's very, very good."

Lou made a sour face. "It is, isn't it? This is something else I need to talk to Jeff about. Another possible threat to IR security."

They exchanged glances, then both looked back at the screen. Virgil frowned. "What do you mean? What kind of site is that, Lou?"

She blew out a frustrated breath. "It's a fan site."

xxxx

"Mr. Thunderbird? Are you there, Mr. Thunderbird? This is Hansa Metharom calling. Please answer if you can, Mr. Thunderbird."

John shook his head and swallowed. He had to decide._ Do I answer her and risk some sort of security breach? Do I ignore her? I doubt she's in danger again; not from her tone of voice and the words she's using. How do I handle this?_ He paced back and forth a bit before the recorder, checking the computer readout on where the call was coming from. _Hm. It's from Bangkok, all right. But the scanning program shouldn't have responded to this; "thunderbird" in the singular isn't in its flagging protocol. So, how is she getting the recorder to function?_

Finally he sighed. _I'd better answer. I have to know how she activated the recorder, if nothing else. But I'll be businesslike. I don't need a... a groupie._

He put on his headset, adjusted the mike, and toggled a switch. "This is International Rescue. What is the nature of your emergency."

On the balcony of her boyfriend's apartment, Miss Hansa smiled. "Mr. Thunderbird! It's you! This is Hansa Metharom calling. You helped me the other day... when I was in the vault. I... I wanted to thank you."

John's eyes widened. He cleared his throat. "I remember you, Miss Hansa. Are you all right now?"

"Yes, I am much better." She sighed lightly. "I am at my boyfriend's house. There are reporters waiting for me at my own flat. The hospital would not let them come in so they are annoying my roommates instead. That is why my boyfriend brought me here."

"The reporters can be very persistent," John agreed. He paused, then asked, "How did you contact us today, Miss Hansa?"

There was a moment of quiet, then she said, "I... I used Mr. Banyat's phone. It was included in my personal effects by mistake. My boyfriend's sister recharged it for me, and I just dialed the last number that had called."

John let out a breath and shook his head. _Damn. Why didn't I realize that could happen? Gotta add something to the communications program that will put a bug in a phone and erase the code completely._ "Can you actually see the number on the little screen, Miss Hansa?"

"No, it comes up as a row of zeros."

_Well, that's something anyway._ "All right, thank you, Miss Hansa. When we are finished with our conversation, please erase the number."

"But... But I would like to speak to you again. You were such a help to me when I was frightened."

John smiled a little. "I know. And I was glad to help you. But there are people, like those reporters you told me about, who would also want to talk to me, to us. If they knew you had that number, and could call us at will, they would harass you."

"I would not let them know!" She sounded so sincere, her voice promising her discretion as strongly as her words. "No one would know, except... us."

"I am sorry, Miss Hansa, but it's not just the reporters. There are other people, unscrupulous and dangerous people, who seek International Rescue, too. If they found out, then they would come after you, too. And I don't want that to happen. None of us would." His voice took on a gently reproving tone. "You know that your knowledge couldn't remain secret forever. So, please. For your own safety, erase the number, then destroy the phone. Please."

He could hear the disappointment and tears in her voice. "I will think about it." She paused, then said in a quieter voice, "I doubt that Mr. Banyat's widow will miss the phone in any case."

John drew in a sharp breath. "Mr. Banyat is dead?"

"Yes. He died in hospital. I heard from someone that he had been in the vault too long with his broken hip."

_Severe shock, most likely,_ John thought. He hesitated, then asked, "What of Miss Piam?"

The other voice brightened a little. "The last thing I heard was that she was conscious, but did not remember what happened. I plan to see her tomorrow, if I can elude the reporters."

"I see."

There was another pause, then Miss Hansa said, "I called to say thank you, and to tell you about the others. I thought that few of those you rescue stop to express their gratitude, or to tell you if they were all right."

"You are correct, Miss Hansa," John said. "We don't often hear about those we rescue, nor are we often thanked. So, I appreciate you doing this. Still, for your own safety, I ask you to erase the number and destroy the phone."

"Then we may never speak again?" she asked.

"Not like this, Miss Hansa. Not unless you are in danger as you were before," John told her. He would have rather said a simple "no", but there was always the possibility that she might need their help again. "Will you please do as I ask?"

"I... I will."

John expected the hesitation and soft, pained, regretful tone. "Thank you," he answered simply. "And now, goodbye, Miss Hansa."

Her last words were in a teary whisper. "Goodbye, Mr. Thunderbird."

He reached over and toggled the switch to end the call, letting out a relieved breath. _That went better than I thought it would. _He realized that the recorder had been running, and debated for a moment what to do with the conversation. _It really should be preserved. I'll attach it as an addendum to the rescue logs, and maybe let the guys know about Mr. Banyat and Miss Piam. I'm sure they'd be interested._

On the tiny balcony in Bangkok, Miss Hansa ended the phone call. Her boyfriend, seeing that she was finished, came out to see her, smiling. "Is everything all right?"

She looked for a long time at the phone, wrestling with herself. _It was nice to talk to Mr. Thunderbird again. I would like to keep speaking with him; he seems like such a gentle man. It's not fair that he asked me to erase the number. Still... I owe my life to him and the others who rescued me. It would not be right to ignore his request. _

Turning the phone over in her hands, she finally offered it to her boyfriend with a small smile. "Yes, everything is fine. Could you show me how to erase the last number called?"

xxxx

A flicker of a frown passed over Kyrano's face, then it settled into its usual pleasant impassivity. He freshened the tea in his own cup as he wrestled with the words to say, the way to ask his question of this, his friend's oldest son. Despite the similarities between father and eldest son, Scott was not particularly close to Kyrano; the retainer felt more affinity with Virgil and John by nature of their personalities and interests. He thought that even Brains had more rapport with him than he and Scott shared. But he felt that he needed to know what was driving this young man, what had come about to make consideration of such a drastic life change so appealing. Finally, Kyrano decided that a gentle directness was the best course.

"I am surprised that you, of all of your father's sons, would be thinking of this. May I ask what your reasons are?"

_I was afraid of this, _Scott thought, sighing internally._ I guess I can give him part of the reason; that might satisfy him. But as for the rest, the real reason... damn! How can I explain it to him when I can't even admit it to myself? _Deliberately, he put his teacup down into the saucer. "Well," he began, looking at the cup instead of Kyrano, "you know my friend, Pete? The one who was killed recently?"

"Yes," Kyrano replied, his tone making the simple word into a simple statement.

"He, uh, well... I was recently notified that he'd named me executor of his will." Scott took the cup up again, and sipped his tea. When he put the cup back down, he ran his finger lightly around the gold edge, distractedly watching his own movement as he spoke. "The attorneys sent me a disk, and on it were Pete's last words to me. He'd taped them some time ago." Glancing up, he saw that Kyrano's face showed sympathy and encouragement. He realized what he was doing with his fingers, drew back his hands, took a deep breath, and went on.

"One of the things he asked me to do, was to be a father to his kids. To show them what a good man was, how one should act. He asked me to watch over them, and their mother, to make sure they were okay." He paused and stared off into space for a moment, then turned back to Kyrano. "It's a charge that he took seriously. It's a responsibility that I _want_ to take seriously. But... I can't." He spread his hands, hunching his shoulders in a half-shrug. "Not with my responsibilities here. They... conflict. To really be the role-model that I want to be, I'd need to have time with them. As field commander of International Rescue, I don't have that time."

Kyrano nodded slowly. "I see. And if you left, you feel you would have that time."

"Well, yes." Scott now put the forefinger and thumb of each hand around the edge of the cup, absently rubbing the porcelain. "I'd probably work for Dad, preferably in the Unity City offices, and be... around. See them a lot, play catch, do things with them, spend time with them."

"It sounds as if you have thought this out well."

Scott shook his head and pulled his hands back again. "No, not really. I didn't think I'd ever have the chance, y'know? Thought I was signed up forever and aye." He looked Kyrano in the eye now, the sincerity of his voice echoed in his face. "Don't get me wrong. I love what I do here - most of it, anyway. Flying Thunderbird One is the biggest kick I could get out of life... well, that I've experienced so far! I'd hate to have to hand her over to Alan or someone else. She's _my_ 'Bird, and accept no substitutes!" He smiled a little and Kyrano chuckled a bit. "Rescuing people makes me feel like I made a difference, and gave a little bit of hope back to the world at large."

His smile faded into a rueful expression. "But I don't particularly like being the one to send my brothers into danger, or to ream them out if they do something stupid. I sometimes dread the rescues, wondering if this will be the one when one of my brothers dies under my command. I've always felt that day would eventually come, and I'm always relieved when another rescue wraps up and we're all coming home alive and in one piece... more or less." He glanced down at the cup and paused to sip at his lukewarm tea. "I really hate being behind Dad's desk when he's gone during an emergency call. It's all the same pressure as Mobile Control but I'm not there, on site, close enough to actually _do_ something if an operation goes wrong."

"So, you have thought out the pros and cons of this?" Kyrano made a motion, silently asking Scott if he would like more tea. Scott nodded, and picked up a cookie, taking a bite and crunching it as he thought. Kyrano added more to the teacup, freshening the temperature, then picked up one of the wafer-thin treats for himself.

Scott took a swallow of tea, clearing his mouth, and answered the question. "Like I said before; until now, I hadn't really given it any serious amount of thought. I'll admit I'd given it _some_, especially when Pete died and I was so angry about that. Then a little more when I heard I was Pete's executor. But since Dad made his offer, it's all been magnified and is pressing on me. It's all I can think about." He glanced up at Kyrano, his face troubled. "Am I some sort of traitor for even considering this? Because there's something niggling at the back of my mind, telling me that I am."

Kyrano shook his head. "No, you are no traitor. Even should you decide to leave International Rescue, you would not be one. I know your father well; he would rather you left his dream than remain a traitor to your own heart."

Scott smiled wryly. "Yeah. I guess so." He drained his teacup, and finished the cookie. "Thanks, Kyrano," he said sincerely. "I don't talk to you much about these kinds of things. Don't know why; I just don't. But I should. You're very wise, and you've put some things into perspective for me. I appreciate that."

"You are welcome, Mister Scott," Kyrano said, nodding once. "Listening to you has helped me as well. And you gave me the distraction I needed to focus again on my work." He glanced around the kitchen, then at the clock. "I must soon prepare the tea tray for her Ladyship."

"Tea tray." Scott gave a little groan and glanced at the clock himself. "I'm having tea with Penelope this afternoon and I just drank all of... this." He waved a hand at the pot and the cups.

Kyrano smiled widely as he rose to take charge of the dishes. "You will survive, I am sure."

xxxx

The flight attendant smiled as she offered a lunch tray to Melissa. She looked over at the little boy who was curled up in a small ball, clutching a teddy bear. "What would he like to eat? We have a children's plate..."

"That would be fine, thank you."

"I'll be right back."

Melissa sighed as she gazed at Quinn. _I knew this would be difficult, but not as bad as it was._

She had packed as quickly as she could, getting up early, dressing quickly, and closing the door against her mother. She knew that if her mother found out what was going on, her father would soon know, and he would come rushing back to the house to stop her. She didn't even tell the children right away, but let them go downstairs and eat breakfast as normal. Only Kaylie saw her mother putting clothes into suitcases.

"Mummy? What are you doing?"

Melissa stopped and smiled. "I'll tell you after breakfast." She leaned in to whisper in Kaylie's ear. "Now don't tell your gran; it's a special surprise, and we don't want to spoil it, so we don't."

Kaylie shook her head and giggled. Melissa gave her a little nudge, and sent her downstairs. "Go down and have your breakfast; there's a good girl. And not a word to Gran, or to your brothers. I'll tell you all about the surprise after we eat."

She had gone into the boys' room while they were eating, and packed as much as she could, shaking her head at the amount of clothing they had managed to accumulate during their stay. She set the suitcases by each bedroom door, ready to grab them and get out as soon as the promised courier arrived. Then she went downstairs to eat breakfast while she could. She kept looking at the clock, her stomach doing flip-flops as the hour hand seemed to crawl. At last breakfast was done, and she accompanied her children upstairs. Her mother had frowned at this; usually Melissa was willing to help with the breakfast dishes. She had stood at the bottom of the stairs and called up to her daughter.

"So, are you going to help with washing up?"

Melissa poked her head through the door to the stairwell. "I'll be down soon, Ma. I have something to do up here, first."

The answer satisfied her mother, and Melissa stood by the doorway, listening as her mother's footsteps retreated. P.J. came out into the upper hall, a questioning look on his face. He motioned to the bags by the door, and was about to say something, when his mother put a finger to her lips, and waved him back inside the room.

When she could no longer hear her mother, Melissa gathered all of her children in her room and sat them down in a row on the bed. She took a deep breath, and said, "We're leaving."

"Leaving? Why? When?" P.J. asked, stunned.

"Where are we going?" Kaylie chimed in.

"We're going home, to Unity City," Melissa explained. "It's long past time we did so. You've missed enough of school as it is. And we're leaving this morning."

"I thought we were staying here," P.J. said, a confused frown on his face. "I thought we were going to go to school here. Grandda said so."

Melissa shook her head. "Your grandda has nothing to say in the matter. The fact is, your Da would have wanted us back in our own home, away from the troubles. That's why he and I left Ireland in the first place. And it's why we're leaving today."

"But, I like it here," whined Quinn. "Grandda an' me are gonna go fishing."

She sighed heavily. "I know, Quinn, darling. But... Da would want us to go home. And Grandda won't let us. So we can't tell him. Will you be good for me?" She looked at each of her children with a pleading gaze. "Will you all be good for me?"

"Yeah, Ma," P.J. said, nodding. "I'm glad to be going home. I miss my friends."

"I want to go back to school," Kaylie said. She frowned, confused. "But why wouldn't Grandda let us go home?"

Melissa racked her brains, trying to think of an answer for her daughter. Finally, she said, "It's too complicated to explain now, Kaylie-love. But believe me, he wouldn't."

"I want to stay!" Quinn's lower lip began to tremble, and his voice began to whine. "I don' wanna go back!" His tone began to escalate into a full-fledged shout. "I wanna stay here!"

"Hush, Quinn!" Melissa tried to calm her son. She glanced at her watch, fifteen more minutes to go. "Calm down!" She took the boy in her arms, but he pushed against her, his face turning red.

"Nancy pants," P.J. said sarcastically, folding his arms. Quinn turned from his mother and, with balled up fists, went after his bigger brother, screaming.

Kaylie took a few steps back and hoisted herself up onto one of the boys' beds to watch the struggle. Melissa tried to grab Quinn's arm and pull him away from P.J., who had also stepped back, putting his hands out for protection. "Peter James!" she snapped. "You're not helping! Now, apologize! And Quinn, stop this!"

In the middle of all this, there was a knock at the door. "Melissa? What's going on?"

"It's okay, Ma!" she called as she grabbed Quinn from behind, holding his arms down beside his body. "The boys are just arguing again!"

"Gran! Gran!" Quinn yelled. "I don' wanna go, Gran! Please, can I stay?" He struggled in his mother's arms, shouting over and over.

Everyone's eyes turned toward the door as Mrs. O'Connor opened it and stood, staring, at the tableau before her. Quinn stopped ranting and struggling at the sight of her. She was shocked for just a minute, then her eyes took in the suitcases, and they widened. "What in heaven's name is going on here?" she demanded. "Why are your bags packed? Melissa, let go of the child, for goodness sake!"

The doorbell rang. Melissa's head whipped around, and she checked her watch. Glancing up at her son, she said, "P.J., take one of these bags down and answer the door! Hurry!"

"Yes, Mum." The eldest grabbed a suitcase, and hauled it out of the room. His grandmother watched for a moment, stunned, then she turned and went after the boy.

"Oh, dear God. Please don't let Ma get there first," Melissa prayed. She turned Quinn around in her arms, and picked him up. He was too stunned to struggle... yet. "Kaylie-love, get your bag and hurry downstairs."

"Okay, Mum." The girl ducked into her room as Melissa carried the boy to the stairwell and began to descend.

She could hear an argument going on between her mother and a man, with P.J. trying to interject. "I'm coming!" she hollered. "I'll just be a minute!"

Quinn began to struggle and shout again, calling for his grandmother, squirming and actually hitting Melissa on the chest with his fists. She grimly soldiered on, easing herself to one of the stair rails for added support. She reached the bottom and headed for the front door. Her mother was arguing with the neatly dressed man on the front steps, but P.J. had interposed himself between the door and the jamb so his grandmother couldn't close it. The man looked up and respectfully tipped his cap to her as soon as she came into view.

"Mrs. Melissa Riordan?"

"Yes, I'm Melissa Riordan." She put Quinn down and held his wrist firmly. "You are...?"

"Michael O'Roarke, mum, of Halloran's Bonded Courier Service. I was sent by a Mr. Scott Tracy to pick up four people and luggage for transfer to the airport."

"Yes, that's right," she said, brushing past her mother.

"I'll need to see some identification, mum," the driver said with a slightly apologetic tone.

She nodded at P.J. "Go get the other bags, and don't forget my handbag!"

"What is this all about?" Mrs. O'Connor demanded to know. "Tell me this instant!" She put her hands on Quinn's shoulders protectively, and the boy reached one hand behind his grandmother, holding as tight as he could. He whimpered, "I wanna stay, Gran. Please say I can stay!"

Melissa kept her hand on Quinn's wrist as she let Kaylie edge out. The girl was carrying her own little bag, and a teddy bear under her arm. Melissa handed the other case to Mr. O'Roarke, who placed it next to him on the stoop. Then she faced her mother. "We're goin' home."

"Goin' home? But... why?"

"Because I can't stand livin' here and bein' treated like a child all over again. Because I'm sick of fightin' with Da every time I turn around. But most of all, because it was what Peter would have wanted. He took us to Unity City to escape the troubles, and I'm bringin' my family back there for the same reasons."

By this time, P.J. had come downstairs with the other two bags, Melissa's purse tucked tightly beneath his arm. She extricated it, and motioned that he should proceed out to join Kaylie, who stood by the blue sedan. As he did, she fumbled with her bag, finding it difficult to open one-handed. Quinn saw this, and tried to get his arm out of his mother's grip, but she tightened it in response to his tugging. He began to wail, making both Mrs. O'Connor and Mr. O'Roarke wince. Melissa just gave him a brief glare, then triumphantly pulled her identification from her purse, holding it out to the driver. He glanced at it, nodded, and tipped his hat again.

"I'll load the luggage."

He turned and went back to his car, opening the front door for P.J, and one of the back doors for Kaylie. Before P.J. could get in, Melissa called to him. "Come get my bag." The boy obeyed, and this left Melissa with two free hands to deal with Quinn.

"Let go of my son, Ma, please," she said, her voice low and intense. "I didn't want to leave with bad feelin's, but it looks like I can't help that now. Please. Let go of Quinn."

"I don't understand why you're leavin'," Mrs. O'Connor said angrily. "And I don't understand why you can't work this out with your Da."

"I've tried, Ma, I really have. But he won't let me have my freedom." Melissa was busily trying to peel Quinn's grip away from her mother's waist. "And as I said, it's what Peter would have wanted." She looked up at her mother, and her eyes teared up. "Don't you see? This isn't my home anymore. My home is where I raised my babies, where I have friends who care, and where my memories of my husband are! And I'm goin' back there. Ow!" She turned her attention back to Quinn, who had kicked her. "You are surely askin' for it, lad. Now, let go!"

She finally pulled his arm away, and as she lifted her eyes again, there was real anger on her mother's face. But Mrs. O'Connor leaned down to Quinn and murmured in his ear. "Your gran and Grandda love you very much, and as much as I'd love to keep you, I can't. Goodbye, dear." She kissed him on his ear, then fled back into the house.

Melissa turned back to Mr. O'Roarke, who nodded at her. She picked up the still wailing Quinn and, with the driver at her elbow to steady her, carried him down to the car. Ducking in, she put him into the middle, and strapped his seatbelt around him.

"I hate you! I hate you!" he cried, hitting her with his fist. "I wanna stay here!"

She paused in what she was doing so she could compose herself, then finished buckling him in, and climbed in after him. Mr. O'Roarke closed the door for her, and got into the driver's seat.

Melissa bit her lower lip, glanced at the closed door to her family's home, then said, "Let's go."

The airport was almost as bad. Mr. O'Roarke took care of the bags for them, carrying them inside to the check-in counter, and handing over the printed sheet with the ticket confirmation numbers. Melissa tendered her identification again, as well as those of her children, but she kept a strong hand on Quinn's wrist. He kept balking, dragging his feet, digging in his heels, making himself a dead weight, doing everything he could to both slow his mother down and embarrass her. His shouted complaints had quieted down to mutters through gritted teeth. Neither P.J. nor Kaylie would look at him, but walked together in front of her. Kaylie gripped her bear tightly with one arm as she held her older brother's hand, as per their mother's orders. They were escorted by the driver to the security checkpoint, and when they reached that spot, Mr. O'Roarke had tipped his hat once more and said, "It was a pleasure to serve you, mum. Have a pleasant flight home."

"Thank you, Mr. O'Roarke. Thank you very much."

Once the family passed through security, Melissa breathed a sigh of relief. She'd had visions of her father chasing her down, trying to drag the children away from her. She knew that her mother probably had called him as soon as she could. _But it's too late, now. He can't get past the checkpoint._

Just as the thought had flashed through her mind, she heard him. "Melissa! Wait! Stop!" he bellowed, coming up to the security station and trying to get past.

Quinn turned and shouted, "Grandda! I wanna stay with you! Take me home with you, Grandda!" He pulled against Melissa's grip, but she had tightened it. P.J. and Kaylie stopped and turned, looking back at their grandfather.

"Quinn! P.J.! Kaylie! Come to me!" Aidan shouted. He pushed against the guards. "Let me go! Those are my grandchildren! She's taking away my grandchildren!"

One of the guards started talking to him, trying to calm him down. Melissa interposed her body between Quinn and her father. "Wave at Grandda. Tell him goodbye," she said to her children. P.J. and Kaylie looked at her, and P.J. nodded.

"Goodbye, Grandda!" "We love you, Grandda! Goodbye!" The two older children waved, their faces serious. Quinn tried to make his way around his mother's body, and screamed for Aidan. At last, Melissa picked him up again, and carried him away.

As she did, she heard her father shout, "Melissa Riordan! If you don't bring back my grandson, you're no more kin of mine, so you're not!"

She swallowed hard, and kept walking.

The flight attendant's voice cut in on her reminiscing. "Here's the children's meal. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Not at the moment, thank you."

Melissa turned to Quinn and gently shook his shoulder. She thought he might be asleep, the way he was curled up, but this turned out not to be the case. "Quinn. It's time to eat, son, so please sit up."

The boy refused to answer, but just curled himself up tighter around Kaylie's teddy bear, which she had offered to let him hold on the trip home.

_I'm too tired to fight anymore,_ Melissa said to herself. She put the meal on the fold down tray in front of Quinn, and leaned her roomy, first class seat back a little. _I'll be so glad to get home._


	22. We have fans?

_Author's Note:_ Alan and Tin-Tin have a heart-to-heart. Lou guides Virgil into the realm of fandom. Penelope returns Addison's call, and Melissa returns Scott's. Scott and Penelope have tea, and conversation. Thanks to Hobbeth for being a sounding board and betareading, to FrankieC being an extra sounding board.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

"So," Alan called to Kenny, "have you thought about what I asked you?" 

Kenny smiled from his position behind the couple. "Yeah, I've been giving it some thought," he said. "Have you two set a date?"

Tin-Tin's giggle mixed with Alan's sigh. "We're still working on that, Kenny," Tin-Tin said. She checked the altimeter and heading readouts, then gave Alan a sunny smile. "Though I've told Alan that Lady Penelope has offered to let us hold the wedding at her estate in England."

"Which means either we get married this summer, or we wait a year," Alan added. "Tin-Tin's excited about the possibility of a garden wedding."

"Oh, I'm sure we could find a planner to pull things together for us quickly," Tin-Tin said. "Especially if you threw enough money at her."

"Or him," Kenny added. "One of the hottest wedding planners in the L.A. area right now is a man. He's got a lot of the A-list stars waiting in line for his services."

"And how would _you_ know this, Kenny, hmm?" Tin-Tin teased.

"Well, Beth _does_ read the gossip rags," was his answer.

"Hmm." Alan sounded thoughtful. "Wonder if a Tracy could cut in line?"

"I don't know, Alan," Kenny said with a laugh. "You could try."

"Actually, Alan," Tin-Tin said, glancing over at him, then back at her instruments. "Since I would like François Lemaire to do the wedding party's gowns, it may have to wait until next year."

"Unless you wanted a winter wedding," Alan suggested. "Foxleyheath can be beautiful in the winter."

"Only if there is snow," Tin-Tin said decidedly. "Otherwise, it can be bleak and dull-looking."

"Besides," Kenny chipped in, "At that point, I'd be too busy putting the finishing touches on that car for the Paris-to-Dakkar race to be your best man."

"Does this mean you're going to do it?" Alan asked, turning to grin at his friend.

"Aw, hell, yeah! I'll do it, if only to keep your brothers from coming to blows over the honor," Kenny replied, grinning back.

Alan laughed as he sat back in his seat. "I knew you would!"

"Yeah right, Tracy. Keep telling yourself that," Kenny teased. "Who's the lucky maid-of-honor going to be, Tin-Tin? I'd like to know who I'll be dancing with – get Beth all prepared for it, y'know."

"I've asked Lady Penelope to be my maid-of-honor," Tin-Tin replied, deliberately not looking back at Kenny but smiling widely.

"Whew! Wow!" Kenny shook his head. "Good thing you told me now; it's going to take quite a while to get Beth to be even somewhat okay with that!"

They all laughed, and that laughter was the final thing said between the three of them for quite a while. Kenny leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes, letting the sound of the jet engines lull him into a doze. Alan turned and, seeing his friend's eyes were closed, turned back to talk with Tin-Tin. "What do you think about my dad's offer?"

Tin-Tin sighed softly. "It was a shock to hear him make it, and even more of a shock for him to include my father. I don't know what my father would do if he left your father's employ." She put a hand out, palm up. "It's not as if he doesn't have the skills to make it in the world; he could very likely write his own ticket at any five-star restaurant, or return to work as a botanist... but at his age, would he want to? Or would he simply prefer to retire? And if he did, where would he go?"

When Tin-Tin paused for breath, Alan jumped in. "It's great that you're worried about your father, Tin-Tin, and what he would do if he took my dad up on his offer. But what about you? What do you think of his offer personally?"

Tin-Tin turned to him, and smiled, a soft, rueful expression. "I have tried _not_ to think about it, Alan. At least, not as it pertains to me alone. I thought that this is an issue we would decide on together. For I do not believe we could have a good, strong marriage if one of us decided to step away, and the other decided to stay."

Alan nodded. "I've been thinking the same thing, actually. What would you want to do if we _both_ stepped away?"

She was quiet for a long time. Then she said, hesitantly, "I am not sure. I know that I would like to be your wife and perhaps a mother, but I would hate to let my talents go to waste. Perhaps I could work for your father's company in an engineering capacity. Perhaps I could freelance, or add to my education. There are so many possibilities." She turned to him again. "What would you do?"

"I think that I'd like to go back to racing," Alan said, smiling. "Build a team, design a new car... the only problem would be the time away from you."

"That is a problem," she replied. "We might work it out that I would go with you, at least at first. But once the children came..." Her words trailed off, and she fixed her gaze firmly out the cockpit bubble.

"What about the children?" he asked, curious. When she didn't answer, he gently reached over and turned her face toward his. "What about children?" His voice was as gentle as his touch, and Tin-Tin looked down.

"Do you want children, Alan?"

There was no hesitation. "Yes, of course I do. I'd like two or three if we can manage it. Why?"

She swallowed, and lifted her gaze. "Even if they were... vulnerable?"

"Vulnerable?" He frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Tin-Tin squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. "When my father and I went to shop and then to get Lady Penelope, he brought up the subject of... his half-brother."

"The Hood." Alan's voice was flat and hard.

"Yes. The Hood. My father felt it was time I knew about our... family. And about that power which he himself wields."

There was a pause, then Alan said, "I don't get it."

"My father... has the same potential to do the things his half-brother does." Tin-Tin distracted herself by checking her instruments again. "The ability is in the line of my grandfather, and so passed to both the Hood and my father."

"Let me get this straight," Alan said slowly. "You mean that your father can do the same things that the Hood can."

"Yes, he has the potential and the skill to do them," Tin-Tin repeated. "But such is his own conscience that he will not... would never... sink to his brother's level."

"All right," Alan said, nodding. "I can understand that. Your father is an honorable man." He cocked his head. "What about you? Do you have the same potential?"

Tin-Tin shook her head quickly. "I don't know. The one thing my father was able to tell me is that I am somehow immune to the Hood. He can't get into my mind. Father suggested that it is a... how did he put it? A... a defensive mechanism in my mind. One that was triggered by what happened at Lake Anasta. My father said that this... mechanism might keep me from developing such powers."

Alan was beginning to get the picture. "But if we were to have kids, they might be able to develop these powers?"

"Possibly. Or they might be vulnerable to my uncle's influence." She reached out a hand and laid it on his thigh. "Some of this depends on you."

"On me?" Alan was taken aback. "Why?"

"It would depend on if you were vulnerable to..." She shook her head in frustration, frowning. "Oh, I am not good at explaining this! I only understand half of it myself!" She sighed, then added, "I think we should talk to my father about it when we return. He'll explain it much better than I can."

"All right," Alan conceded. He paused, then put his hand on hers. "If our children would be potentially vulnerable, does this mean you don't want to have any?"

Tin-Tin turned her hand in his, squeezing briefly before gently pulling it away and turning back to her instruments, a wry smile on her face. "No, it doesn't mean that at all. My father was most adamant that our decision to have children, or not, should not be influenced by this... power of my uncle's." She chuckled. "He also made it very clear that he wanted to be an ancestor."

"So, you'd like to have children."

"Yes, Alan. I would." She looked at him slyly. "But being a race car driver is not going to get you out of night-time diaper changes."

xxxx

"Fan site?" Virgil sounded nonplussed. "We have fans?"

Lou laughed at his expression. "Hunky, mysterious young men who risk their lives to save people? What's not to love? Of course you have fans!" She waved a hand at the site she had accessed. "This is probably considered the crème de la crème of the lot. They don't allow pictures 'in accordance with International Rescue's stated wishes'," she read. "They have an interactive map, showing the sites where International Rescue has last been seen." Moving her cursor over to Asia, she clicked and a more detailed map of the Southeast Asian region popped up in another box. "See? They already have a dot at Bangkok. It's red, which means they haven't gotten any details of the rescue or any interviews with onlookers or survivors. A blue dot indicates that they've updated with details, and a gold dot means there's been more than one rescue in that area." She minimized the Southeast Asian map and scrolled her cursor across the page to rest on the map of England. "You see, London has a gold dot, meaning there has been more than one rescue there."

"Click on London," Virgil said, sitting close so he could see the graphics better.

Lou did so, and a second window came up with a map of London, and blue dots showing the venues of the rescues. "There's our first one," Virgil said, "at London airport. Then the vault... wow. This is pretty detailed." He glanced at Lou. "How big a threat to our security can this be?"

"Let me show you some of the details here." She clicked on the blue button that indicated the Bank of England. "See here? When the call went out, how long it took for Thunderbird One to arrive, how long for Thunderbird Two, equipment used... here's an interview with someone named Lovegrove, another from a Lord Silton. They edit out the operative names, replacing them with 'Thunderbird One pilot' or 'Mobile Control operator' or even 'Yellow sash' and 'White sash'." She sighed. "After the Belarus circus rescue, they started using the code names."

"How did you know about that rescue? Did Dad tell you?" Virgil asked her, frowning.

"Yes and no. Your father mentioned you'd been out on 'family business' but I learned a lot of the details from this website." She motioned her head toward the screen. "I accessed it a day or so after he told me and there it was."

"Wow. They work fast." Virgil looked a little stunned. "So, answer my question. How big a threat could this be?"

"Well, even though they're careful to edit when it comes to the operatives, they still give the names of the victims, or of bystanders—the people who are interviewed or quoted," Lou said. "Those people are weak links. They have information in their heads; names, descriptions, procedures, a lot of little things that can add up fast, especially if someone knows the right questions to ask. Tom had collected the same sort of stuff. What these witnesses reveal about the operatives is the most crucial. Once they're outed, then security is shot to hell."

Virgil blew out a breath, almost whistling. He gave his head a small shake, then his face cleared. "I'm sure they don't have all of the rescues though. There were a few that were kept pretty hush-hush."

"Good," she replied. "I might want to cross-reference with the debriefing logs and make note of what rescues aren't out there in the ether."

He cocked his head, giving Lou a look of curiosity. "So, how long have you known about these sites?"

She paused to think. "Hmm... maybe two months. After I first looked at that disk I got from Tom, I started searching for information on IR, hoping to find a clue as to how I could make contact and send the disk or its contents." She shook her head. "I'd barely scratched the surface before serendipity stepped in and I washed up here. After my move to New York, I began cataloging the sites I'd found, rating them according to threat level, and digging deeper into some of them... like the one we disabled. Not to mention expanding my search and finding more!" She ran a hand through her curls and sighed. "It's been interesting, to say the least. I was surprised at first that your father had no clue about these sites, but I'm sure it's something he would have relegated to Brains or Tin-Tin. After seeing their workload, I can understand why this type of digging would have been pretty far down on their 'to-do' list."

"He could have delegated it to John or Alan - or any one of us," Virgil said, shaking his head more slowly.

She shot him a quick look, eyebrow raised. "If he had thought of it at all, or thought it important." Turning her eyes back to the screen, she added, "From the security issues I've seen so far, I'm not sure he would have." She glanced back at Virgil, giving him wry smile. "Virgil, you know that your father is an idealist at heart. He thinks the best of most people most of the time." Her smile faded. "He realizes that there are bad people out there, but sees most of the world as good, and honorable. That's made him blind in some areas... security being one of them. I hate to be the one to disabuse him of that notion, but it seems I've been put in that position."

For a few moments, there was only the sound of the rain dripping from the upper balcony's edge, then Virgil smiled slightly. "So, you say that this is the most reputable of the fan sites. What are the disreputable ones like?"

Lou looked at him with a mixture of surprise and incredulity. "Uh, are you sure you really want to know?"

"Yeah, why?"

She took a deep breath and exhaled it noisily. "Oh-kay. Just remember: you asked for it." She clicked on a bookmark, bringing up an entirely new screen. "Here's one."

Virgil moved in as she turned the screen toward him. "Sheesh! Those are some garish graphics." She slid the computer over to his lap so he could scroll down on his own. "Oh my God. Where did they get that picture? I suppose that's supposed to be one.. no, two of us, but what's going on with those girls?" He looked up. "The art style is pretty good, but... what _is_ this?"

"Read the caption," she said, leaning back.

"'Inspired by _Rescue Me, _written by tehtndrbrds4evah'." He glanced over at her. "What's this 'Rescue Me' business?"

Lou gave him a pointedly warning look. "Whatever you do, _don't_ read it. It's a fan fiction."

xxxx

Penelope made her way back to her quarters, only slowing her pace once the door had shut behind her. She sighed heavily, then surveyed the room, overcome by a sudden, intense longing for her home. There were no favorite corners here, no cozy spots where she could go to be alone and sort out what she was feeling. It was a comfortable, familiar place, to be sure, but it wasn't hers, even as often as she had occupied it. With another, lighter sigh she walked over to the vanity, turning on the lights. She had always found brushing her hair to be soothing, and with nowhere else to turn, she sat down, picked up her brush and began to use it.

She pulled the brush through her hair almost absently, letting her thoughts drift back to the conversation, then pulling away from the burning memory of it just as quickly. She stopped brushing. The pain of that interview with Jeff had yet to fade, and she knew she couldn't look at the situation at all without the sting of his words rising up again.

_I need a distraction,_ she thought. _And a cigarette._ A quick glance at her watch told her that Kyrano would be along soon with tea. _I daren't smoke inside, though. Scott has asked to speak with me. I hope that I can face him, even though he is not part of the problem._ She was about to resume her grooming, determined to be soothed by it, when her satellite phone caught her eye. It took her a moment to realize why it was blinking, then she put down the brush, picked up the phone, and opened it, subconsciously hoping it would distract her.

_Hm. Three more calls from Clara Higgenbotham; really, the woman is nothing if not persistent! She wants all the details on my 'mishap' in the Caribbean. She is so very much the gossip; I shan't satisfy her curiosity. Keziah has rung again? Did I return her first message? I – I don't think I did. Was she on the list that Jeff gave me? _Penelope thought back and shook her head a little._ No, she was not. She would be ideal to talk to; I might invite her to the manor for a week. I'm sure she could use the respite, and I can be open with her as I can with no other._

She thumbed down through the other messages, listening to some, making various mental notes to herself about who to ring back and deleting the others. The last message made her frown in puzzlement. _Addison?_ She listened to it intently, then looked at her watch. _I hope it's not too late to ring her,_ she mused as she returned the call.

The phone rang only twice before Addison picked up. Penelope put her earphone in so she could see her friend, and vice versa.

"Hallo, Addi," Penny said smiling. "It's nice to see you."

"And you, Penny," her friend replied. "You're looking well; much better than last time we spoke."

"I have been on holiday, and it has done wonders for my morale," Penny gushed. "I spent some time at my ranch in Australia, and am now visiting an old... friend. How are you and your children?"

"We are well enough," Addi said. "My sons are doing well in school, and the Senate isn't full of too much drama at the moment. Rather dull for the most part, really."

"I am glad to hear it," Penelope told her. She paused, then added in a softer tone, "Again, I am so sorry about my _faux pas_ over Wesley. I hadn't heard..."

Addison waved a hand. "It's quite all right, Penny. I'm sure you were otherwise occupied when it happened." Penny couldn't help but feel there was a touch of melancholy and perhaps a bit of bitterness in Addi's voice.

"Still, I should have inquired," Penny said. "I was frightfully rude, and I do apologize for it."

"I had already forgiven you," Addi replied, smiling a little. Then she straightened her shoulders. "But no rest for the weary, I fear. Did you understand what it is that I am asking?"

"Of course, Addi. You want to know just how we called for International Rescue's assistance," Penny said. She frowned a little. "I was not the one to speak with them, but I understand from Parker, who did, that any broadcasting frequency would suffice."

"That was what Lord Silton said," Addison related. "But he wanted to be sure."

"Oh, Lord Silton!" Penelope smiled again. "How is the old dear? I'd almost forgotten that he was one of our Senators."

"He is doing well, fighting the good fight and all."

Penny cocked her head to one side. "Addi, may I ask just why you wish to contact International Rescue? Is there some disaster looming that only they can prevent?"

Addison paused to consider her answer. "No, not a disaster in the traditional sense. However, there are some items coming up on the political agenda here of which both Lord Silton and I feel they should be made aware."

"Ah," Penelope said, nodding. "Can you provide more details?"

Her friend hesitated. Even though Penelope had assured her that she was still on the side of the angels, Addi was unsure just who Penny considered to be 'angels'. _Though I must admit, I have my suspicions. Yet, dare I ask her for confirmation? Perhaps it would be better for us both if I did not know for certain who her current employer is, _she reasoned._ When in doubt, don't,_ also came to her mind and she smiled regretfully. "I fear I cannot tell you, Penelope. I hope you will understand."

Penny bit her lower lip slightly. _Do I tell her? Would she even believe me if I did? _She decided against that course of action._ No, she is better off not knowing. _With that thought, she smiled at Addison. "I do understand, Addi. Even the political system has its own secrets to keep."

Addison gave her a wry look. "Yes, that is true." She glanced at her watch. "The night is moving on here, Penelope, and I must go. It was wonderful to see you again, and thank you so much for your information. I shall put it to good use."

"It was wonderful to see you as well, Addi," Penelope replied. "I hope to see you face-to-face sometime in the near future. Perhaps when you are next in England."

"Perhaps. But please, do stay in touch," Addison said, looking a bit sad.

"I shall, I promise." Penelope smiled again. "Goodnight, Addi."

"Goodnight, Penny."

The call ended, and Penelope closed her phone, holding it between her palms, next to her face, her elbows resting on her vanity. She stared into the mirror, but didn't see her reflection. Instead, her mind was thousands of miles away, reliving her last interview with her friend, when she wore a dark wig and passed herself off as Alison St. Clair. _**Attempted** to do so, that is. _The other memories associated with that imposture threatened to rise up, but she shook her head sharply to dispel them, and suddenly she saw herself in the mirror. Her face, so carefully made up, so blank, and so false in many ways, stared back at her for a long moment. Then she put down her phone, and picked up her brush again. Scott would be coming soon for tea, and she wanted to feel poised and in control when he arrived.

xxxx

Scott tried calling Melissa after his talk with Kyrano. The satellite phone rang and rang, it seemed, and when the voice mail switched on, he left a message.

"Mel, it's Scott. Call me as soon as you conveniently can. I want to know what happened and if you got home all right. Thanks."

He was preparing to join Penelope for tea when the phone rang, the first few bars of "Crowley's Reel" sounding out. "Finally!" he muttered as he picked it up. Putting in his earphone, he sat down at his desk and selected "voice and picture". "Hello, Melissa?"

The woman who faced him looked tired and worn. "Hallo, Scott. I've just finished putting the children to bed. We got home in one piece, though I can't say it's been a pleasant experience."

"I'm sorry you had a rough time, Mel," Scott said, a frown creasing his brows. "Was the courier on time? Did he or she give you any trouble?"

She shook her head. "The courier was fine, Scott. He was there at ten on the button, and was very helpful. My mother almost shut the door on him, but P.J. managed to stop that until I could get downstairs with the bags and show him my identification." She shook her head slowly. "No, the trouble was with Quinn... and my father. Quinn fought me every step of the way until we reached Unity City, then he was more cooperative. My father... well, the less said about him, the better, at least right now."

"What did your father do, Mel?" Scott asked, his frown deepening. "I want to know."

Melissa licked her lips, drawing the lower one quickly in between her teeth. A large tear began to course down her cheek, followed by another. She wiped them away, blinking. "I'd... I'd rather not go into it, Scott. Not now. After I get some sleep. It's late here and I'm exhausted. I'll call you in the morning; is that all right?"

"Make it mid-afternoon your time. Give yourself some space to get settled." Scott's frown eased off and he smiled kindly.

"Mid-afternoon. Yes, I'll call then." She swallowed, then said, "Goodnight, Scott."

"Goodnight, Melissa. Sleep well."

The connection broke on her end first, and Scott sighed with relief. He noticed that he had a number of voice mail messages, and more than one of them was from Aidan O'Connor. "I'll deal with you when I'm good and ready, Mr. O'Connor," he muttered. "But right now, I have an appointment for tea."

xxxx

"Do you have access, Jorge?"

The wizened computer hacker nodded curtly. He didn't look up as he maneuvered his way into the World Government's database. Using Natane's password and account, he created a hidden identity for himself, one linked to the Vice President's secretary, but that he could access. Alvarez stood impassively behind him.

"Will you be able to plant the incriminating documents?"

"Won' be easy," the computer expert said. "Have to retro date dem. Even so, de archived backups won' show de information." He finally raised his lined face to his employer. "Won' stand up for long under scrutiny."

"It won't have to," Alvarez said, bluntly. "It will throw enough dust in the air to put suspicion on the Vice President, or at least one of his people. And in the ensuing flurry of attacks and counter-attacks, I will make my move." He glanced down at the computer whiz. "Do you understand what I am trying to do?"

The old man turned his eyes back to the screen. He understood only too well, but he knew that, at this point, his silence – and Alvarez's need for his skills – preserved his life. "Don' need to know. Don' want to know."

Alvarez smiled. "An excellent answer, Jorge. Very wise. I will have more instructions for you later. Right now, a lady awaits."

Jorge humphed, and Alvarez, still smiling, patted him condescendingly on the shoulder. Then the younger man turned and stepped out of the computer room, leaving the computer programmer behind.

Jorge turned as the door shut behind Alvarez, then he brought up another window. "Won' hurt to have a parachute," he murmured to himself as he burned the verbal conversation he'd just recorded to his hard drive.

Outside in the hallway, Alvarez pulled a cigar from his vest pocket. Jorge was adamant that no one smoke in the computer room, a requirement that Alvarez himself adhered to. However, outside of it, he felt free to indulge. _Could I be developing an addiction to these?_ he asked himself as he snipped the end, and lit it. _If I am, it is a most pleasant one - much more so than the incense I used in the past to hone my powers. _Puffing on the cigar, he went in search of Natane, who he had left senseless on the drawing room sofa. _She will spend the night again,_ he decided. _And will remember nothing of my probings... or of her instructions, until I activate her programming._

xxxx

Penelope looked up as Parker opened the door to her suite. She smiled at Scott, who greeted Parker, then stepped inside.

"Thanks for the invitation to tea, Penny," Scott said as he sat down in one of the easy chairs across from her. "I've been wanting to talk with you ever since you got here."

"I am happy to have the opportunity to speak with you, also, Scott," Penelope said. "I will pour out, Parker, thank you."

"Very good, Milady," Parker said as he withdrew. Penelope poured a cup of tea for Scott, then one for herself. Scott noticed the difference in color and scent to the tea he'd shared with Kyrano, and recognized it as one of Penelope's favorites. He added a lump of sugar, stirred, then lifted the cup to his lips for a sip. She offered him the plate of sandwiches and, when he had taken one of each kind, the plate of sweets. He chose a strawberry jam tart, and two cookies, and laid them on the plate beside his saucer.

Penelope cocked her head at him. "Is that all, Scott? You usually are quite the trencherman when it comes to tea."

Scott paled at first, then colored. "Uh, I guess I am, Penny, but you see I just had some herbal tea and cookies with Kyrano. Not that I ate a lot," he assured her quickly, shaking his head, "I really wasn't that hungry after my father's speech today. Nevertheless, my stomach is feels like it's still full of actual... uh," he smiled weakly, "... tea."

His hostess held her puzzled glaze for a moment more, then breathed deeply and gave her head a little shake. "I will never quite understand the American attitude toward tea." She settled back with her cup balanced in her manicured fingers and asked, "Now, have you heard from Melissa Riordan lately? She has often been in my thoughts."

"I heard from her just before I came here," Scott said, taking another sip of tea. "I had to arrange for her to leave Ireland quickly today. She really wanted to go home, and her father was making that difficult." He put his cup down again. "Peter made me executor of his will, and asked me to keep an eye on Melissa and the kids. I was happy to help her get home."

"Ah, I understand," Penelope said, nodding. "Acting as executor, especially with the added responsibility of overseeing the family, will be a daunting task. Do you plan to visit them often?"

"As often as I can," Scott said. He picked up the tart and bit into it; a glob of jam threatened to ooze down his chin. He put the tart down quickly and used his napkin. "Just how often depends on what I decide to do about Dad's offer."

Penelope sat up straighter. "You are considering it?"

Scott nodded. "Yes. I am. I don't see how I could possibly fulfill my obligation to Peter without actually _being_ there – a lot. Kids need time, y'know."

"Yes, you are correct," Penny murmured. She took a delicate bite of her cucumber sandwich, sipped her tea, and put down her cup and folded her hands in her lap. "Now, why did you want to speak with me?"

Scott sighed. He looked away, then moistened his lips, fidgeting a little. "I... well..." He turned his face back to hers. "I owe you an apology."

"An apology?"

"Yes. For the way I treated you after Peter's death." He blew out a breath. "I was a cold, angry bastard to you, even after what you did for Melissa. You didn't deserve that, and I'm sorry I treated you that way."

Penelope looked down at her hands for a long moment. "I see. I could not help but notice how angry you were, but I did not understand why you directed that anger toward me at the time. I thought it was perhaps just because you were grieving, upset over Peter's death. But now you say this was not the case?"

Scott sipped his tea quietly for a few moments. "It's hard to talk about it, even now," he said. "But, at the time, I was... I thought... I blamed you for Peter's death. I blamed you, and I blamed myself."

"I think I can deduce why you were angry at me," Penelope said quietly. "Had my disguise truly passed muster, I would not have needed to be extracted from the situation. And Peter would not have died."

"Yes, that's what I thought at first," Scott replied. "But, as I've been told more than once, we didn't know who we were up against at the time. And because of that, you were unprepared. _We_ were unprepared on the whole. It wasn't your fault that your disguise was penetrated." He gave her a frank look. "I wanted to take my anger out on someone, and you were an easier target."

"Please believe me, Scott, when I say you were not the only one blaming me for Peter's death." Penelope's hands clenched together tightly. "I was – and still am - keenly aware of the part my own hubris played in the events. Though the Minister of Security was an impostor, and one with powers that I could not resist, he was not the only one to see through my disguise. The junior senator from Great Britain is an old school chum of mine. She also saw through my façade."

"She was the one who allowed us to use her property for a landing spot?" He took a bite of his salmon paste sandwich after asking the question.

Penelope nodded. "Yes, and she is planning on rendering a further service. She should be trying to contact us soon to warn us of some legislative agenda that would impact International Rescue in particular."

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure." Penelope freshened her lukewarm cup of tea from the still-steaming pot. She took a sip, then added, "She would not tell me, though I am certain she suspects who my current employer is. However, I did not feel it was safe for her to have that information as a certainty. So she will be in touch very soon – she or her colleague, Lord Silton."

Scott smiled. "The guy at the Bank of England?"

"The very same."

Scott picked up the remainder of his tart, and finished it off in two quick bites. He nodded when Penelope motioned, silently asking if he wanted a refill, and he took a moment to drink the warmer brew, then tackled the cucumber sandwich. Penelope watched him for a moment, then asked softly, "You said you blamed yourself for his death. Why?"

He swallowed, emptying his mouth of bread and vegetable, then cleared it further with another mouthful of tea. He wiped his lips with his napkin, then said, "Because I didn't have the guts to go with my instincts. Dad wanted me to lie low, let the agents handle extricating you. I wanted to use a missile or two and create the diversion that Pete made." He shook his head. "I should have gone with my instincts. Then Pete would still be alive."

Penny sat silent for a moment, mulling over what he had told her. Then she shook her head. "No, Scott. There was no guarantee that Peter would still be alive. He might still have sustained that gunshot wound and died. Or one of the others might have. And the risk to International Rescue really was too great." She sipped her tea again. "We have danced along the saber's blade in such a manner before, and it has only been the concatenation of circumstances that has allowed us to retain the public's good will, or to minimize the damage over what was done. Had you taken Thunderbird One into the fray on the minister's cay, itwould have been seen, not as an attack on a man who had kidnapped one of your fellows, but as an unprovoked declaration of war on a high ranking World Government official. And I assure you, it _would_ have been seen, and recorded, very likely by stations well outside the range of both camera detector and fogger. I am certain that the minister of security takes his own security very seriously..." she smiled slightly at him, "... and Thunderbird One _is_ rather difficult to ignore."

She took a bite of sandwich, and another sip of tea. "No, it was much better to send in one person, well camouflaged, and totally unexpected." Her voice lowered in volume. "The old chestnut is that hindsight is perfect. The reality is quite the opposite. Nothing is ever clear. There are always too many 'might have beens'."

They were both quiet for a moment, and Scott thought hard about what she had said. He ate his cookies, chewing slowly. Finally, when both cup and plate were empty, he spoke again. "Well, in any case, I did want to apologize for the way I treated you. I was being unfair, and I am really very sorry that I took my anger and frustration out on you. You weren't to blame for Pete's death; Jim Franks was, and... we've already dealt with him." He gave her a small smile. "I hope that you'll be able to forgive a fool's actions and attitude."

She returned the smile. "I think I can do so. I do appreciate you taking the initiative in this way. I should hate to have such a serious matter come between us." _God knows I have enough trouble with Jeff and Virgil. I do not need to add Scott to my emotional burden._

She rose from her chair and Scott stood up as well. She held out a hand, which he took, but instead of simply shaking it, he pulled her toward him slightly, and leaned in to kiss her gently on the cheek.

"Thanks for the tea," he said. A wide smile lit up his face. "Now to get in a bit of exercise so I can actually eat dinner."

"Somehow, Scott, I don't foresee you having any difficulty at the dinner table," Penelope teased. Her tone got a little more serious as she said, "Please keep me informed about Melissa and her situation. I am concerned."

"I will," Scott promised. He walked to the door to the suite, and just before he had gotten close enough to activate it, he stopped and turned. There was a thoughtful look on his face, and he rubbed his chin for a moment.

"Uh, Penny?"

"Yes, Scott?"

He took in a breath and let it out through his nose, sounding exasperated. "I know it's really none of my business, but... Virgil is really smitten with you. I know that he and Dad unloaded a lot on you alittle whileago, and you might not be really ready to deal with it, still... whatever you do, please be gentle with Virge. His timing was off by a long shot, that's true, but he really does care for you – a lot. Please give him a chance."

Penny's face had gone very still when Scott mentioned his brother, and she glanced down as he finished his plea. Then she looked at him with a firm gaze, but spoke in a soft, almost apologetic voice. "I fear you are correct when you say that it is none of your business, Scott. I do plan on speaking with Virgil soon about my feelings on the matter you have mentioned." She glanced down again. "But I will keep your words in mind when I speak with him. That is all I can promise."

"That's all I can ask." Scott took another step toward the door, and it obediently swished open for him. "Talk to you later, Penny. Thanks again for the tea and the talk."

"You are welcome, Scott. I'm sure we'll see each other later."

He nodded, gave her a little wave, then was gone. The door closed behind him, and Penelope sank into the chair she had been occupying. She felt the teapot, and satisfied that there was till some warmth in its contents, poured the remainder of the brew into her cup. Then she sat back, teacup in one hand, jam tart in the other, and tried hard not to think about Jeff, Peter, Scott or Virgil.


	23. What are you working on?

_Author's Note:_ No, I haven't forgotten this fic. Alan and Tin-Tin in Los Angeles. John gets an unexpected call. Fernando completes an unpleasant errand. Scott's tea drinking has consequences. Jeff reads. Virgil writes. Agent 38 gets nosy. Eddie Kerr oversees his new project. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and to Lillehafrue for being a sounding board.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

Alan opened his eyes just slightly. Something had wakened him, but he wasn't quite sure what it was. He wriggled a little bit, readjusting his position in the king-sized bed and, as he did, his hand brushed against something that was draped over his waist. Puzzled, he felt along the length of the warm appendage and realized what it was: Tin-Tin's arm. With a small smile, he pulled the dangling hand toward his face, and lightly kissed each of the limp fingers. Then he released her hand, letting it slide back down to his waist. He closed his eyes, and remembered the sweetness of the previous hours. 

Neither of them had come to their relationship as virgins. Both had experience with other lovers. They'd slept together and made love before. But this time was different than all the others. He couldn't put a finger on exactly what was different or why, but it was. _Maybe it's because I'm not afraid to love her now,_ Alan thought. He sighed, contented.

The next thing Alan knew, the hotel's phone was ringing. He groaned and opened his eyes to find that at some point, he had rolled over and was now facing Tin-Tin. He groaned again, and rolled back toward the phone.

"Hello?" he mumbled as he activated the "voice only" mode.

The recorded wake-up call played, but before it finished, he hung up. He turned back to find Tin-Tin yawning and stretching.

"Good morning," he said with a smile and a speculative eye, watching as the sheet fell to her waist.

She caught his look, and rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. "Oh, Alan," she said, shaking her head. "It's nothing you haven't seen before."

"But it's something I've never seen in this light," he replied, reaching for her, and drawing her face toward his for a long, sweet kiss.

She smiled coyly at him. "And what light would that be?"

"The light of love," he whispered as he drew her body close to his and kissed her again.

She gave a little moan as his hands smoothed over her bare skin, and took a deep breath before whispering, "Alan?"

"Hm?" His lips were too busy elsewhere to answer coherently.

The moan was a little louder this time, and the whisper breathier. "What about breakfast?"

He stopped his kissing, looked into her eyes, and lightly ran a finger along her lips. "You are my breakfast."

She chuckled, and let him have his way.

xxxx

"Calling International Rescue." The recorder started up, sending a signal to the sleeping quarters below. John woke with a start, listened for a moment, and got up quickly, throwing on his bathrobe as he headed for the lift to the upper level. "International Rescue, come in please."

He hurried from the lift and headed for the communications bank, the flooring cold beneath his bare feet.

"Calling International Rescue." The male voice, cultured, mature and indisputably British sounded slightly familiar to him.

"This is International Rescue, reading you five by five. What is the nature of your emergency?"

"Ah, there you are!" The speaker cleared his throat. "I am Lord Silton, senior Senator from Great Britain to the World Congress. You were able to render me a great service during my tenure as director of the Bank."

John nodded, even though the senator couldn't see him. "I remember the incident, your lordship. How can we assist you today?"

Lord Stilton cleared his throat again, and sounded a touch embarrassed. "Ah, yes. I must apologize for disturbing you as I am afraid there is not an emergency in the traditional sense." His tone became serious and resolute. "Nevertheless, a situation is developing in the World Government of which I felt your organization should be made aware."

John's eyes widened with incredulity, then narrowed with irritation. "With all due respect, your lordship, International Rescue is apolitical..."

"I am fully cognizant of your organization's impartiality when performing your duties, and your distaste for dealing with the affairs of government," the peer said briskly, leaving John to wonder if his tone had been too sharp. "However, you have on occasion become embroiled in disputes between nations, crossing national borders, and as a result, the security committee - of which I am a member - is considering a bill that would try and force you to reveal yourselves. It is not aimed directly at International Rescue, but would encompass you in its scope." He paused, as if waiting for a response. When John said nothing, Lord Silton continued. "I am of the opinion that you should retain your anonymity, and I will do what I can to kill this bill in committee. But I will warn you: it is heavily endorsed by the Minister of Security himself, and the weight of his approval will go far."

"Ahhh," John murmured. "I see." He frowned as he considered his options._ Do I tell his Lordship what we know about Alvarez?_ He thought for a moment, then shook his head. _No, we have no physical proof, just Penny's experiences, and to rely on them would be to blow her cover... and possibly ours as well._ His decision made, he returned to the microphone. "Thank you, your lordship, for this information. I will be sure to see it gets to the people who can do the most with it."

"Very good. I do not know who, if anyone, you have working for your interests in the World Government, but you may rest assured that the British delegation will do its part on your behalf."

"Thank you, your lordship. We appreciate any effort you make for us." John was getting antsy; at any time a real emergency might come in. "If you would excuse me, I need to get back to my duties."

"Yes, of course. Goodbye and good luck, sir."

"Goodbye, and thank you again." John terminated the call, and let out a sigh of relief. He ran a hand through his hair, and gave his scalp a quick scratch while he was at it. "Dad doesn't need to hear this now, not at 3 a.m. I'll let him know during my routine check in after breakfast."

A wide yawn stretched his mouth, screwing his face up into a comical expression. He reset the recorder, making sure to preserve the recent conversation. Then he wandered back to the lift, and ultimately his bed.

xxxx

Fernando Ramirez was fuming. His Excellency had several important, eyes-only folders that needed to be opened, all of them with thumbprint locks. So, Fernando had been curtly dispatched to the cay to acquire the necessary prints. The trip there and back could take all day, and he had made plans for the evening. _It is a pity that we could not just remove the thumb and keep it handy for jobs such as this,_ Ramirez thought as the helijet flew toward the tiny island. _But the locks would not accept such a cold substitute. I wish his Excellency could find a way to graft the fingerprints on his hand – the technology must exist somewhere._

The helijet alighted on the island's small spot of pitted and patched tarmac. The burned out hulk of the Security Minister's other helijet still sat to one side; getting a salvage company to the island was becoming an exercise in futility. "Be ready to leave," Fernando instructed the pilot in Spanish. "I will return shortly."

He climbed out of the helijet and was greeted by Pablo, one of the minister's personal bodyguards who had been left in charge of the cay's security. "How is he?" Ramirez asked as he matched strides with the bodyguard.

"Still alive," is all that Pablo would say. They walked quickly down the unpaved pathway to the little outbuilding. By the time they arrived, Ramirez had loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar, sweat beading on his forehead from the oppressive heat in the island's interior.

_Too much time spent in air conditioned offices,_ he grumbled internally.

Pablo nodded at the guard who sat in the shaded corner of the building. The guard greeted the men, casting a suspicious glance toward Ramirez as he opened the door. They moved into the still air of the tiny building, the heat inside more intense than that of the outside. "He will die in this heat, you know," Fernando said to Pablo as the latter opened the door to the real Alvarez's prison.

Pablo shrugged. "Does it matter?"

For that, Fernando had no answer.

The wretched creature on the cot stirred slightly as the two men came in. Ramirez nearly gagged at the fetid stench of the room. Pablo stood near the open door; to breathe moderately fresher air, the secretary surmised. Kneeling beside the cot, Fernando breathed shallowly and through his mouth, trying to keep the stink of sweat, urine, and feces at bay. He grabbed the prisoner's right hand, and brought it close to him, then fumbled for the first of the locked envelopes. The thin arm tightened, and Fernando was surprised at the amount of wiry strength left in the wasted muscles, as the true minister tried to pull his arm away. Still, the secretary was stronger, and managed to unlock the first folder before losing his grip on the thin wrist. He grabbed for the appendage again. "Carlos! Do not struggle. I am not going to hurt you."

The creature slowly turned and fastened dull, half-lidded eyes on Ramirez. A phlegmy moan rattled in the man's throat once, then again. The cracked lips began to move, shaping words and syllables without sound. Then, to Fernando's great surprise, the creature spoke.

"¿F-Fernan... F-Fernando. Es usted?" The voice was a spit-filled whisper, sending drool down from the corner of Carlos's mouth.

The secretary shuddered with revulsion, and took the opportunity to open another folder. "Si, si, mi amigo," he said softly. "Es yo." He guided the hand toward another thumbprint lock, and successfully unfastened it.

Suddenly, Carlos's hand shook free of Ramirez's grip and shot out to grab the secretary by the shirt, gathering the half the tie in his fist. "Help me, mi amigo," he whispered, his eyes wide and wild now. "Save me from the yellow eyes... those eyes... Madre de Dios! Those eyes!" He twisted the shirt, pulling himself close, even as Fernando sought to pry his fingers away. "¡Engracia¡Mis niños! Save them! Help me, Fernando! Help me save them!" His voice rose in volume and in tone; spittle flew from his mouth.

"I will help you!" The secretary was willing to say anything to make this shell of a man let go. "I will help you," he said in a calmer tone, trying to soothe his old friend. He put his hands on the thin wrists and shook them, just a little. "Be calm, mi amigo. I will help you."

"You... You promise? You will help me? Help my beloved and my children?! Promise me. Swear by the name of the Holy Virgin."

"I swear. I swear by the Holy Virgin that I will help you," Fernando said in a soothing tone. The promise and oath seemed to calm the agitated man, and Ramirez was able to disentangle the dirty hands from his pale yellow shirt.

"You will help me... help them..." Carlos's mutterings segued off into incoherency.

Fernando made short work of the other folders, then gathered them up, and put them back in his briefcase. At the door he looked back at the wretch, whose head was now lolling back and forth as he muttered. Ramirez pushed by Pablo and hurried out.

"You were of no help in there," Ramirez growled as he reached the outside. He turned and poked the burly bodyguard in the chest. "Why didn't you sedate him?"

"Might have killed him," Pablo retorted, folding his arms and trying to look impassive. "You needed him alive."

"Just a few minutes ago you said it didn't matter if he lived or died."

"To me, it does not." Pablo gestured to the man sitting in the shade. "I would have one or two more men to keep the island safe if he were dead." He raised his hands in a shrug. "But until his Excellency can find another way..."

"Until that time, keep him alive," Ramirez spat. "And comfortable. See he has a bath." He glanced down at his now filthy shirt and tie. "Tell the pilot I will be delayed. I need to change my clothes."

Pablo shrugged again as he watched the secretary head, fuming again, toward the hacienda. He strode off to see to the pilot.

Ramirez's pace slowed as he approached the hacienda. He glanced back toward the now hidden building, a troubled look on his face. _I swore to help your family. It is too late for them, but perhaps... no, no, I cannot._ The thought bothered him and he shook his head to clear it, then hurried off to the cool comfort of the minister's house.

xxxx

"Ugh." Scott sat up and rubbed his chest. He could feel an acidic burn in his esophagus, and taste the sourness of bile mixed with a hint of the evening's dinner. An expression of disgust creased his face as a belch brought up more of the offending substance. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he got up, heading for his bathroom and the medicine cabinet there.

"Damn," he muttered. "When did I run out?" He shuffled though the cabinet's contents again, shaking his head. "Better get some from the sick room."

Throwing on his bathrobe, he padded out into the hall and downstairs to the infirmary, where Brains kept a stock of pain relievers, antacids, and other over-the-counter remedies for the household. Scott rummaged around in the cupboard, finally finding the antacid tablets in a form and flavor he could stomach. Opening the bottle, he popped two in his mouth, then dropped the bottle into the pocket of his robe. He headed back upstairs, and nearly ran into Jeff as the latter left the study.

"Can't sleep, son?" Jeff asked. He held a book on one hand, and his reading glasses in the other.

"No. Heartburn," Scott explained, belching again and making a face. "Probably from too much tea."

"Tea?"

"Yeah. I had tea with Kyrano, then tea with Penelope, then dinner."

"Ah, I see." The two matched strides as they headed down to their bedrooms.

"How come you're up?" Scott peered at the book in his father's hand. "And what's that you have there?"

"Just couldn't sleep, that's all. Not sure why. And this..." Jeff lifted the book and turned it over, his thumb keeping his place. "This is one of your mother's journals."

"Mom's journal?" Scott stopped and gave his father a serious look. "I knew that she wrote a journal, but I didn't know you read them."

"I haven't, until now," Jeff admitted. He smiled a little. "Somehow, I feel the time is right."

His son's face echoed the smile. "Hmph. Well. I'm glad." He motioned to the book. "You'll let me know what she said about me, right?"

Jeff chuckled, and shook his head. "No way. Some things are better swept under the rug and left there."

Scott barked a short laugh, and stopped by his door. "Goodnight, Dad."

"Goodnight, son. Hope that heartburn calms down."

"It's disappearing already. See you in the morning." Scott's door opened, and he stepped inside.

"It's already morning," Jeff murmured with amusement. He headed down to his quarters. The door swished open and he looked around before entering, considering whether or not he should read in the sitting room. _No,_ he thought, shaking his head. _In bed is the place. Like I used to do when Lucy was alive. _He smiled at this idea, and headed for the bedroom.

Turning on the bedside light, Jeff climbed back between the sheets, putting the book – spine up – on the blankets beside him. He adjusted his glasses, then picked up the book and found the spot where he had been reading earlier in the study.

_John took his first steps today, walking from the divan to the table where Scott and Virgil were coloring. If I hadn't turned at just the right moment, I would have missed it entirely... though Scott certainly would have told me all about it. "Mom! Mom!" he yelled. "Didja see? Didja see? Johnny walked!" Virgil seemed to be excited too; after all, this was the first time he'd seen a toddler do this. But it wasn't Scott's first time, and he was still excited about it. It amazes me sometimes. He's got such a bond with his brothers; I hope it stays strong, even when Johnny starts getting into his toys and such, like Virgil did._

_I got down on my knees and called John to me, but he was having none of it. He wanted to color, too, like his big brothers. Scott moved him over to his end of the table and shared his crayons; he knows how Virgil gets when a crayon is broken. I'm still amazed that at such a young age, Virgil is already coloring inside the lines. The child development books say this usually doesn't come until after age 5 or 6, and when I compare the two oldest boys, I can see that Scott – who is 6 - has trouble being as neat as Virgil. But knowing my Scott, he won't be outdone by a little brother!_

_I wonder how soon I could start Virgil on the piano..._

_Wish Jeff had been here to see it, or I'd had presence of mind to have the camera. But these things never happen when you're ready for them. Still, Jeff's working a lot of hours trying to get this company up and running, more hours than he really needs to my thinking. To his mother's thinking, too; she called last night and asked to talk to him. When I told her he was still at work, she was not pleased. _

_Well, gotta get dinner ready. Maybe I'll get lucky and my husband will be home for it... then maybe he'll get lucky, 'cause I'm feeling frisky tonight._

_Wish I could remember whether or not I got lucky, _Jeff mused with a chuckle._ Those days sort of blur together now. I'd forgotten about Virgil's artistic abilities showing up so early. Lucy was the one who remembered when the milestones happened. It's not that I didn't care; it just seemed unimportant to keep such strict track of them, and compare one boy to another. Just as long as they were healthy and developing normally, that's what mattered to me._ He closed the book, and opened it again at random. Settling his glasses on his nose again, he murmured, " Let's see what else my Lucy had to say."

_Eleanor called again. She wouldn't tell me what was so important that she called Jeff three nights in a row, but it's obviously something big. When I told her Jeff was still at work, she shook her head and gave me a pitying look. _

"_Are you sure he's at work?" she asked. "Can you call his office and find out?"_

_I told her, of course I could, though he's not always working in the office. Sometimes he's in a conference room where he can spread out whatever materials he's got. But he's always got his cell with him and I can call that and he'll answer right away._

_She wanted to know who was working with him and was she pretty. I said that Arnold Vederber and Ben Lewandosky were working with him and though Arnold was good-looking in a mature sort of way, Ben wasn't very pretty at all. That seemed to shut her up on the subject. I asked her what was so important, and why she wanted to know who Jeff was working with, but she wouldn't give me a straight answer on either count. I'm sure she thinks Jeff is cheating on me, but why, I can't fathom. I suggested that she call him at work herself and tell him whatever was on her mind since there was no telling what night he'd be home early enough for her to catch him._

_When he finally came home, I asked if she'd called. Turns out she did; his father broke a leg and they wanted him to come out and work on the farm for a bit. Why the hell couldn't she tell me that? And why couldn't she have called him at work sooner? Jeff was looking and sounding guilty right then, but I reminded him that his father had a whole crew of workers who could pick up the slack on the farm, but he needed to focus on his own family, and his own business. He told me he understood that, and that his mother didn't even want to call, but his father insisted. I'm not so sure about that; Eleanor's apron strings aren't cut through yet by any means. _

_He was talking about going, and taking all of us with him, but then Virgil woke up with a fever and vomiting, and that put the kibosh on the whole thing. I think he was relieved to have a legitimate excuse not to drop everything and haul butt out to Kansas... at least, what his parents would consider a legitimate excuse._

_I love my in-laws, really I do, but I don't understand them._

"Oh God, I remember that," Jeff said aloud with a soft groan. He shook his head. "Never realized what was going on behind the scenes with my mom and Lucy. I thought they got along better than this." With a sigh, he idly flipped through the pages, stopping at one when the first line caught his eye.

_Scott wants a dog. He's been begging and pleading for one ever since he saw the lab puppy that his friend Brent has. He's making all kinds of outlandish promises, none of which he'll keep. I really don't want a dog, simply because I know from my parents' experience that the mom ends up doing all the work. But I also don't want to be the bad guy here. So, I told him to ask his father about it._

_Really? Hm. Wonder how often she pushed the bad guy role off on me,_ Jeff thought with a wry smile. He went back to reading.

_I can't believe it. Jeff said yes. I'm so angry I could slap the man!_

Jeff laid the open book on his lap and grimaced. "Yeah, I remember that one. That was a helluva big fight."

_Jeff said that when he was a boy, he had a dog. He fed it and watered it and all. I asked him who took the burrs out of the thing's fur? Who cleaned up all the mess when they were house training it? Who made sure it got its shots and took it to the vet when it was sick? Who cleaned up any vomit, and gave it flea baths? Who washed the muddy paw prints off the floor? Who took care of it when he was at school? He didn't have much of an answer to those questions!_

_He thinks it'll teach Scott some responsibility. I want to see Scott being responsible first! Damn, the kid is only six! He can't even keep his room clean and he can barely make his bed! I still help him with his baths! He's just not old enough for a dog!_

_I am so pissed I could scream!_

"I sure was in the proverbial dog house that night," Jeff murmured with a sigh. "Slept on the couch, if memory serves me correctly. But we did come to a compromise on the matter." He turned the page to the next entry.

_Okay, re: the dog situation. Jeff and I talked it over (after he apologized for not consulting me first, and I said I was sorry for going off on him like that) and this is what we're going to do. We've decided to give Scott a challenge. If he can consistently do three household chores for three weeks (long enough to make it a habit, according to some of the psych experts I've read), then we'll let him to get a dog. And when he does, he'll be responsible for food, water, and walkies for six months, at which time we'll review how he's been doing and add another age appropriate dog care chore if he's doing well. Jeff promises to take the dog for obedience training, and to share house training chores (yeah, right... like he'll be around for them?). If by the end of a year, Scott isn't shouldering at least four to five dog care chores – in addition to his household ones – then we'll figure out what else to do with the dog._

_I can just see the wibbling lips and tear-filled eyes now, but...I promised to give it a try. _

_Jeff and Scott looked through a lot of dog pictures online and printed out a couple, both of some kind of shepherd. A black and white dog, which surprised me. I thought for sure he'd opt for the same dog breed his friend had. They put one up on the outside of Scott's bedroom door, and one over his bed, where he can see it easily. Visualizing the goal, Jeff said. Then we picked out the three household chores for his test: making his bed, picking up his dirty clothes, and putting utensils on the table at dinner time. I'll make up a chart, and get some sticky stars so that we can mark off how often he does them._

_If this works, I'll be surprised. And all this talking about pets makes me want to get a cat. Or maybe a hamster._

_Scott **did** surprise her, too. He kept up his initial chores for the three weeks, then when we got Jet, he was really faithful about taking care of her, _Jeff thought with a smile. _She never did get a cat, but Virgil asked for a hamster later. I think she cried more than anyone when Jet died._

He glanced at the clock and groaned. "Four a.m., and I'm still not a bit sleepy. Maybe a shot of whiskey would help." Sighing, he pulled back his covers and shrugged back into his robe. He slipped a bookmark into the journal to mark his place, then set the book on his nightstand and laid his glasses atop it. With a final stretch, he padded out barefoot toward the lounge.

He heard the tapping of keys before he even got to the grillwork door between the study and his goal. A quick glance showed Virgil, who had the second night watch, sitting at the desk with a laptop in front of him, busily typing away at something. The slight clanking of the door as Jeff opened it caught Virgil's ear, and he glanced up. "Oh, hi, Dad."

"Morning, Virgil," Jeff replied as he crossed the room.

"Not a good morning?"

"Not when you've been up half the night," Jeff said, a wry tone in his voice. He came around the desk, giving a brief, idle glance to the laptop screen as he pulled his bottle of whiskey from its place. "Thought a snort might relax me." He motioned toward the computer, which showed a weather radar map for their area. "What are you working on?"

"Nothing much," Virgil said with a slight shrug. "Just a little project of my own. Figured I'd use my time on watch wisely."

Jeff took the time to pour himself two fingers of whiskey before commenting, "Good call." He took a sizable sip of the liquor, letting it roll across his tongue. He didn't know whether it was the hour or the drink itself, but the stuff was less than smooth and he made a disgusted face as he swallowed.

"So, what's keeping you up, Dad?" Virgil asked as he idly changed the weather map to show the weather over Australia.

"I'm not sure," Jeff replied. He took another sip, moving out from behind the desk, one hand in a pocket of his bathrobe. "I think I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop after today's announcement." He strolled slowly toward the line of portraits, the boys all in their International Rescue garb. He turned his head to look back at Virgil. "I know I want everyone to think over their decisions carefully, but I also want them to hurry up and make them." He smiled ruefully. "There are times when I'm not very good at waiting."

"Don't like to be in a holding pattern, do you?"

"Not for long." Jeff turned back toward the pictures and stared at them, eyes unfocused, sipping his drink automatically. Virgil watched his father for a second, then enlarged a window he'd minimized when Jeff was on his way across the room. Scanning down the block of text, he thought, _Need to shift that line up a bit... and what the hell did I do to those verb tenses? I'd better go through and make them consistent. _

Suddenly, without looking at Virgil, Jeff asked, "Do you remember how old you were when you started coloring between the lines?"

Glancing up, Virgil frowned. "No, not exactly. I know it was early, but just how old I was..." He shook his head and shrugged.

"You were three," Jeff stated. "I don't know why I didn't remember that," he added, shaking his head slightly.

Virgil hesitated, then said slowly, "You weren't around much then. You were starting up the business." He frowned, cocking his head to one side. "What brought this up?"

Jeff took in a deep breath and blew it out, then turned to gaze at his son. A small smile appeared. "I've been reading your mother's journals."

His son's brown eyes widened, then he smiled. "Dad, that's great! It's... it's a sign..." He stopped, a perplexed look on his face, then he shrugged. "I don't know what it's a sign of – only you would know. But it sounds... it sounds like the grieving is over."

His father looked back at the portraits, lifted the glass to his lips once more, and polished off the contents, making a small noise of satisfaction when he'd finished. "Maybe. Just maybe," he said softly. Glancing down at the tumbler in his hand, he nodded. "I think that's going to be it. I'll just take this downstairs..."

Virgil stood and held out his hand. "No need, Dad. I'll take it. You should get back to bed."

Chuckling, Jeff brought the glass to Virgil. "Thanks, son. I appreciate it." He turned to leave, then stopped. "Please let Kyrano know I'll be late for breakfast. He should expect me around nine-thirty."

"Okay, Dad," Virgil replied, as he laid the glass on the corner of the desk. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, son, and good luck with that project."

"Thanks, Dad."

Jeff walked out, rubbing his stubbled chin. Virgil watched him go, and listened for the tell-tale swishing shut of the door between study and hallway. Then he sat up straight and reread what he'd written.

"The man with the yellow sash already secured... damn! How'd I miss that verb? Okay. 'The man with the yellow sash _had_ already secured the driller...' Yeah. Much better."

xxxx

The coffee shop wasn't busy as the lunch crowd, for the most part, had been and gone. Though Renée knew that the busier the place was, the more she could listen to, she also knew that the busier the place was, the less she could actually hear. Besides, she preferred to take her lunch later; there was one particularly stubborn minor functionary in the Minister of Agriculture's office who insisted on contacting her at the same time every day. Being out to lunch was a wonderful excuse to avoid her.

As she sat waiting for her meal, she tuned in to the conversation going on in the booth behind her. From the sound of it, the speakers were a group of twenty-something professional women, and they were concerned about one of their number.

"Are you sure he's okay, Natane?" one of the women asked. "You've been out with him so often, three or four nights in a row just this past week."

"And if what you say is true, you haven't gotten too much sleep either," another woman asked, a tone of something undefinable in her voice. _Envy? Worry? I'm not sure,_ thought Renée.

"You gals just want to know who he is." The strongly-American accented voice sounded amused. "I told you that he doesn't want our relationship spread around. The publicity... well, let's just say it'd be all over the gossip rags. So, I'm not answering any more questions, okay?" The voice turned from amused to slightly annoyed. "I'm having a good time, and my work isn't suffering, so please, just lay off."

The other women subsided with grumbled noises of assent, and Renée's food came, so she didn't hear much more of the conversation. She did, however, look up as the ladies left, filing what she could see of faces, hair and other features into her memory. _It would be a nice challenge to try and figure out which one of them was dating this mystery man, and who it might possibly be._ She smiled a little. _Not that it would do either of my employers any good, but it would satisfy an old lady's curiosity. _She took a piece of paper from her purse and wrote down the one name she'd heard - Natane - and added the word "American" next to it._ I don't know if I spelled that right, but we'll see. If she works in Unity City, I'll find her. Must keep my mind active somehow._

Finishing her meal, she got up to pay for it, and left the little coffee shop_. Hopefully I'll only have one message from Mme. Briscoe when I return and not the usual three or four._

xxxx

"Okay, people!" Eddie Kerr clapped his hands. He paced in front of his desk, then suddenly stopped and turned toward one member of his team. "What do we have? Asha?"

"Frank's sister was less than heartbroken over her brother's death. Couldn't summon up an appropriate sense of outrage or sorrow, even with the prospect of being on vid," Asha, a plump 30 something woman of Indian descent said, shaking her head. "Seems they had a falling out a long time ago and never made up. She gave me the names of a couple of old girlfriends, though. I'm still checking into one of them. The other declined to be interviewed."

"Sounds like a charmer," Eddie said sarcastically. He turned to the tall, middle-aged man with his silver hair pulled back in a long ponytail. "Liam? What do you have on the international front?"

"Berenora's office said they'd be in touch; I'm calling back when the timezones are favorable." He glanced over his data pad. "Interpol's still keeping details in Franks's death under tight wraps; possibly because he was a former employee and they don't want a black eye either way."

"No Freedom of Information Act there," Eddie said with a shake of his head. "Were you able to find the actual agent who was trapped?"

"Actually, yeah. I got a phone interview with him, using one of our Russian affiliates to translate. Makes for interesting reading, but," here he hesitated, "he told me that he saw the IR man destroy the materials."

"Damn!" Eddie hit his desk with the flat of his hand. "Casting doubt on International Rescue's claims of destroying the information was a lynch pin of the piece."

"Can't you play up the 'crossing national borders without permission' and the 'dealing with hostile nation states' more?" Liam asked.

Eddie thought for a moment, then shook his head. "The public expects IR to be able to fly unmolested to wherever the danger is." He paused, then made some notes on his PDA. "I think we're going to have to play up the 'IR has killed people' business. Anderbad Tunnel, the security chief what's-his-face..."

"Toblosk," Asha supplied helpfully.

"Right. And suggest heavily that they were involved in this shooting in Maine." He glanced up at Suzanne, who had until now been listening and taking notes. "Did that guy I assigned to the Clarendon woman – what was his name? Oh, yeah, Philippe. Has he called in anything?"

"He called in yesterday to say that he'd struck up a conversation with Clarendon's college-aged daughter, but she was very cagey. Probably has had to deal with too many reporters." She scrolled down her list. "I understand that the police are due to question Mrs. Clarendon again."

"Hm. I suppose the locals will get the scraps from Portland Police PR after that." Eddie sounded sour. "We'd better concentrate on the foreign angles and imply the connection."

"Are you sure this isn't going to blow up in our faces, Eddie?" Suzanne asked, her voice showing her skepticism. "The legal department is getting nervous."

"How'd they hear of this?"

"They haven't heard anything specific." Suzanne squirmed in her seat a little. "But they know something's in the wind and they're beginning to wonder... and worry."

"The legal department is always worried," Kerr said irritably, waving a hand. "This will be ratings gold, and IR won't be able to touch us. Not without revealing more about themselves than they'd like." He glanced at his pad again. "Okay. I think that's all. Keep me updated on your progress."

As the three assistants filed out, Suzanne shook her head and muttered, "I hope you're right, Eddie, and you're not digging yourself into a bigger hole than the one you dug before."


	24. Can I ask your advice?

_Author's Note:_ Brains makes plans. Gordon seeks advice. Jeff plays with Spot. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, to Lillehafrue for being a sounding board.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

"Has anyone seen Lou this morning?" Jeff asked as Kyrano poured him a cup of coffee. Since he was late to breakfast, the only people joining him were Scott, who had also slept in, and Brains, who had been all but dragged to the dining room by Eleanor. She had eaten earlier and noticed the engineer missing from the table. 

"I believe Mrs. Myles said something about cleaning the cats' play area," Kyrano murmured. He refilled Scott's coffee, which earned him a quiet, "Thanks, Kyrano."

Moving around the table to Brains, the retainer continued. "Mr. Gordon expressed the desire to see the cats, and Mrs. Myles invited him to come with her." Brains waved away the coffee refill, engrossed in his data pad; even a stern Eleanor Tracy couldn't make him relinquish it.

"Thank you, Kyrano," Jeff said, smiling. "I may head over there myself after the meal."

"Uh, M-Mr. Tracy?" Brains looked up at Jeff. "I, uh, heard from Deidre last evening. She's given me a date to m-meet with her." He handed the pad to his employer.

Jeff scrolled through the proposal, his brows slowly knitting in concentration, then his face cleared a bit. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, shaking his head. "This is just four days away, Brains. I'm not sure we can spare you this soon. We've got to return Lady Penelope to England, fetch John from Thunderbird Five, Scott's got business in Unity City..."

"Dad?"

Jeff glanced up. "Yes, Scott?"

Scott took a gulp of coffee. "Alan's going to be returning well before Brains needs to leave. Surely we can spare him, especially if he's willing to fly commercial. In fact, is there any reason why Lady Penelope and Parker couldn't fly commercial, say from Wellington or even Sydney? I mean, I know you want to send FAB-1 back to England with Penelope, but she does have other vehicles, and she'd have to use one while the back seat was being reupholstered anyway."

"Hm. That's true." Jeff rubbed his chin. "What do you think, Brains?"

Brains pointed at the data pad. "I th-thought of that. I already have a flight b-booked from Christchurch."

Jeff peered at the screen again. "Hmph. Should have been wearing my glasses... and scrolled down a bit more." He handed the data pad back to Brains. "All right. Confirm your visit with Dr. Macias. We'll take care of getting you to the airport." He rubbed a finger along his jawline, then added, "And Brains?"

The engineer looked up. "Yes, Mr. Tracy?"

"Give yourself an extra day or two after the interview before flying back. We need you, yes, but you need a bit of time to clear your mind."

Brains nodded, and smiled slightly.

Jeff shook his head. "Flying commercial. Why the hell didn't I think of that?"

"Flying is the way we get places," Scott said with a shrug. He lifted his coffee mug, hiding his grin behind it. "And you _have_ been a bit preoccupied lately."

Jeff pinned Scott with a wry look. "You think?" He gave his head a little shake and picked up his fork. A couple of bites later, he added, "I do want to send FAB-1 with Penny, but with these security issues... maybe it would be better if she did fly home via a less conspicuous means than Thunderbird Two."

"That's not exactly the reason why I brought it up, Dad, but you have a point." Scott took a bite of toast and chewed on it thoughtfully. "Maybe one of us could fly her to England, and Virgil could take FAB-1 to Bongo-Bongo. Parker could arrange for transport from Australia on a Skythrust."

"Still, I did make the offer of sending them home together in Thunderbird Two. I don't want to renege on that," Jeff mused. He shook his head and went back to his meal.

Scott sighed internally. He'd hoped to be the one to fly Penny back, then go from there to Unity City, with perhaps a quick stop in Derry to have it out with Aidan O'Connor. What little patience he'd had with the man was long ago exhausted, but if he were to fight with him over Melissa's fate, he wanted to do it face to face – and in front of the lawyer O'Connor had hired to contest Peter's will. _Why the hell can't he just leave well enough alone? Melissa's picking up the pieces of her life just fine without his interference. _He emptied his coffee cup, and finished his toast._ Doesn't matter much anyway. Dad's not going to let me go until after Alan gets back, and we retrieve John from Thunderbird Five._

He wiped his mouth with a napkin, then laid the cloth beside his plate. "Thanks for breakfast, Kyrano."

"What are your plans for the day, Scott?" Jeff asked before Scott could get up from the table.

Scott glanced at his watch. "I'm going to call Melissa in a little bit; see how she's doing. The kids started back to school today." He paused, then asked, "Dad, what's the protocol for widows of agents? Is there one?"

Jeff stopped, put down his cup, and folded one hand over the other fist, leaning in so his chin rested on a knuckle. "I thought about that when we first began the organization, specifically with Jeremiah and his wife in mind. If he'd passed on before she had, I was planning on continuing the stipend for a while... perhaps as long as six months, or until all the details of probate and insurance had been ironed out."

"I'd expect it wouldn't take too long in Jeremiah's case," Scott said with a smile.

His father shook his head slowly. "Don't sell that hillbilly short, son. He's far more savvy than people give him credit for. He realized what I was going to do when this venture was in the planning stages, just from comments I made when we talked. You can bet that he's got his money squirreled away, safe and sound, to take care of himself and Maude when they can't physically live on their own. And to keep Maude snug and dry should he die before her."

Scott frowned. "Then why does he live the way he does, out in the boonies and all?"

His question made Jeff sit back and laugh. "You might as well ask Penny why she lives in her manor house." At Scott's confused look, he went on. "Because he _likes _it, Scott. And because it's camouflage. No one's going to think him as sharp as he is, just as a lot of people think of Penny as an air headed model and heiress. Their perceptions couldn't be further from the truth in either case."

"Ah." Scott nodded his head sagely. "I see." He pushed back his chair and stood. "Well, I'd better go call Melissa, then maybe run the diagnostics on Thunderbird Three. I want to get up to Five as soon as possible after Alan gets home."

"You'll have to give him some time to rest, Scott," Jeff said. "I'm sure that jewelry store hopping is keeping him and Tin-Tin very busy."

"He can rest on the way up," Scott called over his shoulder as he headed out of the dining room.

"Hmph. I know what you're up to," Jeff muttered as he watched his son stride away. He blew out a frustrated breath, then finished his coffee.

xxxx

"Ugh, that's gross."

Lou glanced up at Gordon and swiped a wrist over her forehead. "Tell me about it. Hairballs are the bane of my existence" She turned back to the sticky mass that had dried on the floor, but not before shooting an irritated glance up at Moofums. "It's what I get for having a long-haired cat."

Gordon sat cross legged on the floor, his back against one of the carpeted portions of the wall. The room was airy, with bare floors of smooth, light colored hardwood. The walls were covered halfway up with either large patches of short loop carpet, similarly sized panels of woven sisal, or planks of untreated wood – some of which already bore claw marks. The door to the walk-in closet had been removed and the upper shelves had been converted into cupboards that were cat-proof.

From where he sat, Gordon could see the large covered litter boxes, which had just been thoroughly cleaned and changed, sitting in a row on the closet floor. The feeding station was in the opposite corner of the room, and with his peripheral vision, he caught the dark streak of Spot as she dashed back to the bathroom from the kibble dispenser. There were carpeted benches, and cubby holes, and all sorts of places for cats to climb, hide, or curl up for a nap. Midnight lay in Gordon's lap, purring, his eyes half closed in seeming enjoyment, as the young man stroked the sleek black fur. "I bet this guy doesn't cough up hairballs."

"No, he doesn't," Lou admitted. She moved in with gloved hands and a rag to pick up the majority of the mess, shaking it out into a trash bag. "Not often, anyway." She smiled slyly. "He pukes up food instead."

Gordon stopped his stroking, giving the cat a suspicious look. "He does? When?"

"Occasionally; usually when he's eaten too much, too fast." Lou sprayed the floor with a cleaning solution, then scrubbed up the remains of the hairball. "But when he does, it's a lot!"

"Hmm." With a thoughtful sound, Gordon considered the cat in his lap. Midnight reciprocated with a half-lidded, yellow-eyed stare. A few moments of stare down later, the stroking resumed. "I'll risk it."

"If he's about to puke, you'll know." Lou dropped the rag into a bucket of water, and levered herself from the floor. "He'll start heaving and hacking long before anything comes up."

"That's a lovely image."

Gordon's wry comment made Lou chuckle. She padded over to the bathroom. "Oh, Spot!" With the annoyed cry, she ducked inside.

"What did she do?"

Lou came out, the skinny tortie held firmly. "I caught her spraying the outside of the tub," she explained as she placed the cat on one of the carpeted tree platforms, high off the ground. Moofums, who was on the highest perch, moved her head to peer down for a moment, yawned widely, and curled up into a fluffy gray ball again. "I'm sure it wasn't just her; the cats like to fight over the bathroom at home, too, and I'm always cleaning up the effects of their territorial pissing contests." She shook her head. "At least there's no fabric in there; washing the shower curtains was always a pain."

"Well, now I know where the term came from." Gordon seemed oblivious to Midnight's forepaws pressing rhythmically on the inside of his thigh.

"Cats aren't the only ones." She took the cleaning spray and the bucket into the bathroom. "But when you have four..." Her comment trailed off, and Gordon could hear the faint squirting of the spray bottle.

"Aunt Lou?"

"Yes?" Her voice sounded hollow and echoed in the tiled bath.

"Can I ask your advice?" Gordon kept stroking Midnight absently. The black cat continued to knead, and began to lightly lick at the denim covered thigh.

"About what?"

"About Dad's offer."

There was quiet for a few moments, then Lou emerged, shucking her gloves and dropping them on a carpeted bench. She joined Gordon on the floor with a slight groan, sitting beside him with her back to the wall. Snowball jumped down from the wide window shelf, and wandered over to Lou, who began to scratch her around the head and ears.

"So, what do you want advice about?" Lou asked as she settled herself into a comfortable position. She gestured to Midnight. "You might want to move him before he gets your jeans any wetter."

Gordon glanced down. "Oh, damn! What are you doing that for, cat?" His exclamation didn't deter Midnight any, so he picked up the cat, putting him firmly down to one side at arm's length. "No more of that, you!" Untangling his legs, he drew them up, resting his forearms on them. "Why does he do that?"

She shrugged. "Don't know, really. He's the only one who does, though." Her fingers continued to rub Snowball's head and neck and occasionally she passed her hand over the cat's back and tail. "So, what's going on? How can I help?"

Gordon studiously avoided Lou's face, watching as Midnight, tail held high, headed for the window perch. "Cats are weird."

"Gordon."

"Right." He brought his attention back to her. "I don't know what to do. The idea of leaving IR, doing something else with my life... it appeals to me."

He put his legs out straight and folded his arms. Lou raised an eyebrow and cocked her head in an inquiring way. After a moment, she asked, "And?"

"And... I don't know!" Gordon said in exasperation. "I know Dad's depending on me. I'm the only aquanaut in the family..."

"But not in the world," Lou said, interrupting. "It's not as if he couldn't find someone, somewhere, to replace you."

He blinked. "Replace me?" he said slowly, an uncomprehending look on his face.

She nodded. "Yes. I'd supposed he'd have to. I suppose he'd have to replace any of you boys who decided to leave." She gave a little shrug. "I mean, the operation seems geared toward having a minimum number of people on hand to man the ships and all."

"That's true enough," Gordon said, lapsing back into a cross legged position. "But... the idea of it. The idea of someone else at the controls of Thunderbird Four... it hadn't even crossed my mind."

Lou regarded him with a calculating look before speaking again. "Tell me. What are you planning to do if you leave?"

He straightened. "Well, it's not really planned, not yet. But I thought about maybe going to college, pick up a degree... I'm the only one of us who went directly into the military after high school, y'know."

"Yes, I know," she replied, smiling slightly. "Your mother told me she and your father had it out over that."

"Did they?" Gordon sounded surprised. "I guess Mom must have been trying to get Dad to let me go. I thought he'd bust a vein when he heard of my plans."

Lou shook her head. "No, Gordon, it wasn't like that. Your _mother_ didn't want you to go. She wanted to you to get a year or two of college under your belt before considering the military. Your dad might not have been too thrilled with the branch of service you chose, but as I understand it, he pretty much went from high school into the service himself. So, to him, that wasn't a problem."

Gordon's eyes grew big with shock. "You're kidding me! I always thought... damn!" He took a deep breath, then another. "Going into it, I knew _Dad_ would have a cow when I announced I'd signed up with WASP. It never crossed my mind that _Mom_ would have one, too!"

Lou chuckled, amused. "Oh, Gordon, she was _so_ upset! She called and paged me several times the day you dropped your bombshell, and I wasn't exactly in a position where I could answer right away. When I finally got back to her, she'd been able to stew for a while, and boy, did she let loose! She called you and your father every name in the book, you for deciding to go into the military, and your father for letting you go join up with 'some fancy pants Navy group' as she put it."

" 'Letting me'?" Gordon said, incredulous. He put both hands behind his head and leaned back with a small huff. "As if they could have _stopped_ me."

"That's what I told her, when I got a word in edgewise. She wasn't too happy to hear that out of me, I'll tell you. But she got over it." Lou chuckled. "Eventually."

"Wow. The things you learn about your parents..." Gordon sat back up again, taking his hands down.

"True," Lou agreed. "But, back to the subject at hand. You've told me one thing: go to college. What else have you been thinking about?"

"Well, there's a project I was involved with when I was in WASP, an underwater colony." He grinned suddenly. "That's where I was learning underwater farming methods, and my picture got taken for your niece's textbook." He went on to explain about the colony's recent evacuation and the need for retrofitting. "That's a project I'd like to be in on. Then there are tons of smaller research projects that could use a good diver and oceanographer..."

"Any of them in Biddeford?"

Gordon caught the twinkle in Lou's eyes and his grin got wider. "Don't know yet. I haven't looked. Though there _is_ one research project I'd like to start there..."

"Rachel."

His grin faded to a soft smile. "Yeah. Rachel. I mean, we barely met, but we seem to have a lot of interests in common and I'd like to get to know her better... even as just a friend." He sighed, his face falling into a wistful expression. "But that takes time, time I don't have working for IR."

They sat quietly for a bit. Lou had the feeling he hadn't finished, and waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she prompted, "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah. There is." He slid his hand back through his hair, resting it on the back of his neck for a moment. "I figured it's something you might understand, having been an Interpol officer and all."

"I'm listening."

He swallowed heavily, but looked her in the face. "Have you ever had to... shoot someone? I mean, shoot to kill them?"

Lou started at his question. She glanced down to where Snowball was gently putting teeth to a knuckle, and removed her hand. She gave the cat a last stroke, clasping her hands together tightly, and blowing out a slow breath. Then she looked back up at Gordon. He was surprised to see her serious expression, and hear the soft hesitation in her voice when she finally replied, "Yes, Gordon. I have."

"So have I... more than once. And, lately, I'm having trouble reconciling an organization that's supposed to save lives with shooting people dead in the line of duty."

Lou nodded slightly. "I understand. I had those same doubts about being an officer. Don't get me wrong; I loved what I did – at least the 'serve' portion. The surveillance, both on and off site, interviewing witnesses, going to different cities, gathering the evidence, putting all the pieces of the puzzle together... even the scut work like poring over phone logs and credit card statements became less boring when you'd turn up that one little gem." She paused and sighed. "But when it came to the 'protect' part – even when it was a partner, even when it was my own life at stake..." Her words trailed off as she shook her head. "I was prepared to do it, but wished it wasn't part of the job."

"I don't think it should be part of mine," Gordon said flatly. "Not in International Rescue. But there have been instances when it was."

"Like in Maine?"

Gordon made a rueful face. "Yeah. Like in Maine. I mean, I know we were trying to protect you and your sister, and keep that creep from getting his hands on our information, but still... it was a life."

Lou lightly bit her lower lip. "I take it there have been other instances?"

He nodded. "Yeah. One was sorta similar to Maine. Someone important was kidnapped; Penelope went after the kidnappers; we had to rescue them all. There was a gunfight... I don't know how many people I killed that day. There have been other times, too."

She reached her hand out to take his and squeeze it as he continued. "Y'know, in WASP, I expected it. It was military and even though we weren't at war, if I had to kill, it was because... well, it was the nature of the beast. But not IR. That's not what it was created to do."

"Oh, Gordon." Lou squeezed his hand again, firmly, and reached over to caress him, passing her free hand gently through his hair. She added, "This is definitely something you need to discuss with your father."

"I know. I just don't know if it's enough to make me leave IR." He snorted a little laugh. Snowball, who had been waiting for Lou to return to her stroking, decided he might be better pickings and approached him, rubbing her face against his knee. He reached out to scratch her head. "John told me to look at the bigger picture, at how many lives I've saved by taking those actions."

She considered that for a moment, then nodded. "He has a point. I don't know the specifics of all the cases involved, though I've started looking at the debriefing logs." She cocked her head at him. "How many do you estimate?"

"Estimate?" He shrugged. "I've never tried to estimate. A lot, I suppose, theoretically speaking. Sort of a 'what if' situation."

"Ah, okay." She was interrupted by a beeping from the communicator on her wrist. "Excuse me." She let go of his hand and fumbled with the buttons a bit, until Gordon took her wrist firmly and pressed the right one for her. "Thanks," she said, her cheeks coloring. She turned to the tiny screen. "Yes, Jeff?"

"I heard you were cleaning up after the cats. Do you mind if I come over? I could give you a hand..."

Lou snorted and laughed. "Give me a hand? Yeah, right. Not if you're as disgusted with hairballs as your son is. Besides, the cleaning's finished. But, sure. Come over. I think Spot has missed you."

"Be there in a few minutes," Jeff said with a smile. "Jeff out."

The screen went dark, and Lou turned to Gordon. "I suppose this brings our conversation to an end for now, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," he said. "But I'm not any closer to an answer than I was when we began."

Lou licked her lower lip, then levered herself off the floor. Reaching down, she offered him a hand up, which he took. He tried to brush the white cat hairs from his jeans, and the black ones from his shirt. "Ugh. How do you deal with this hair all the time?"

Lou walked over to the closet and pulled a lint brush from a cupboard. "This is how." Handing it to him, she said, "Listen, the only advice I can give is, when you talk to your father about your concerns, go in with an open mind. It might be that once he knows what's bothering you about IR, he can come up with a solution that'll let you have your cake and eat it, too." She brushed a few hairs from his shoulder, then gently pushed his bangs from his eyes, drawing his gaze to hers. "Beyond that, make the decision that will let you sleep best at night."

Looking up from his brushing, Gordon gave her a puzzled frown. "That's an odd bit of advice."

"I know. But it might help you decide. I'm sure you've lost sleep over the lives you've taken. Think about how much you'll miss whenever there's a rescue and you're not there, or when you know Thunderbird Four's in use and you're not at her helm. Then weigh the two carefully."

"Hmm." Gordon's face screwed up in a sour expression. "I don't like the thought of someone else at the controls of my 'Bird, not at all, no ma'am." His face relaxed, and he shook his head. "But if I leave, that's what'll happen." He handed the brush back to her, and began to walk toward the door, then paused to ask, "Have you heard from Rachel lately?"

"Me?" Lou raised a hand toward her chest. "Not too recently. The semester will be ending soon, and I told her not to contact me too often. Don't want the authorities up there impounding her computer and finding anything incriminating. You've probably heard more from her than I have."

"Actually, no." Gordon was at the door now. "But you're likely right about the end of the semester. She's probably swamped." He paused and stepped back toward Lou. "Please, Aunt Lou, don't tell Dad what we've talked about. I want..."

Lou raised a hand and shook her head. "Not a word, I promise. But your dad will be along any minute now..."

"I know." He leaned over to kiss Lou on the cheek. "Thanks for listening, and the advice." He smiled, a sly smile, and wagged his eyebrows up and down. "And thanks for telling me what _really_ happened when I enlisted."

"G'wan with you, you bologna loaf," Lou said with a chuckle and a wave of her hand.

He grinned and opened the door. It slid aside, framing a startled Jeff. "I was never a bologna loaf," Gordon said, turning and jabbing his finger in Lou's direction. He glanced up at his father. "'Scuse me, Dad," he said as he brushed by, heading for the balcony and the stairs beyond.

Lou hurried to the playroom door. "You were, too, and I have the pictures to prove it!" she called after him. Gordon turned around, waved a dismissive hand, and made a "Pfttt!" noise at her. She laughed, and so did he as he jogged away.

"Hey, where're you going, Spot?" Jeff said, blocking the tortie's escape with a leg, then bending down to scoop her up. He stepped inside, following Lou, scratching the cat's ears and face as she rested in his arms. "Sounds like you two were having fun. Did he give you any help at all?"

"Yeah, we were and yeah, he did. He took out the used litter for me. That stuff can get pretty heavy." She ran a hand through her curls and began to pick up the last few bits of cleaning equipment.

"That's all?" Jeff asked, incredulity and annoyance wrestling for first place in his tone.

"And he kept Midnight from being a pest," Lou added. She went into the bathroom and came out with spray bottle and empty bucket. "Seriously, Jeff, that's all I would _let _him do. I'm pretty particular when it comes to cleaning up after my babies." She dropped the waterproof gloves into the bucket, and stopped in front of Jeff to scratch Spot's head. She smiled at him. "Listen to that purr. See, I told you she missed you."

"I guess so," Jeff said, bemused by the cat's lack of squirming. But as soon as Lou disappeared into the closet, Spot writhed in his arms and, startled, he let go. She immediately dashed into the bathroom.

"Spot!" Jeff called, his voice a mix of reproach and frustration.

Lou stuck her head out of the closet. "What did she do?"

"She squirmed; I let go..." Jeff made motions towards the other open door.

"And she ran in the bathroom."

"Yeah."

"Well, go in after her." Lou said with a chuckle. "I'll only be a minute."

Jeff rolled his eyes, and, muttering under his breath, strode into the bathroom. The skinny cat was perched on the edge of the empty tub. There was the smell of vanilla in the air, and Jeff wondered where it came from. He sat down on the toilet bowl lid, and leaned up against the wall. The bowl was empty and the electronics turned off at Lou's request; Moofums liked to drink from the toilet. Reaching out toward the cat, he watched as she delicately sniffed the ends of his fingers, then butted her head against them. "Mayow."

"And a 'mayow' right back at you, Spot," Jeff said as he rubbed his fingers over the soft, sleek fur. The tortie moved closer, allowing him to reach more of her head and body, until finally she was standing on his denim-covered thighs. Jeff continued to stroke and rub her as her paws began to press, and her claws began to flex. "I came prepared today, Spot. Ow! Yeow! I guess not as prepared as I thought. Can't believe your claws are that sharp!"

"They are. But if you want really sharp claws, try a kitten's. Those little buggers can go through nearly anything." Lou settled herself down in the open doorway, legs stretched out across the threshold and into the main room. "So, what are you up to, today, besides your dose of feline acupuncture?"

"Waiting, mostly. Trying to come up with contingency plans should any of the boys decide to leave. Starting discussions with them about the agents who have asked to drop out or scale back." He smiled at her and his hand slowed in its catly ministrations. Spot butted his inactive hand with an aggrieved sounding, "Naow!"

"Now?" he said with surprise as he resumed the attention. "You sure are a demanding little thing, aren't you?"

Lou laughed. "You started it, Jeff. Now you have to make sure she's satisfied." She turned her head and said, "Speaking of demanding..." just as Moofums minced her way to her owner's side. "Wish I'd brought the brush along. She's shedding like crazy." The fluffy cat rubbed up against Lou's elbow, pulling on her polo shirt's short sleeve. "Oh, okay, you foofy ting."

" 'Foofy ting'?" Jeff gave her a look of disbelief.

"Baby talk for my cats, okay?" Lou responded as she began to stroke the fluffy gray fur.

"Okay, okay, I get it."

The pair fell silent for a bit, quiet enough that Jeff could hear the purrs of both cats. Finally, Lou said, "So, what is her Ladyship up to today? I saw that she had a tray in her room again for breakfast."

"I have no idea," Jeff replied with a sigh. "Scott made the suggestion that perhaps Penny might prefer to be flown home in one of our jets instead of in Thunderbird Two, and ship her Rolls back to England in a Skythrust. I'm thinking of making the offer, but I don't know how she'll take it."

"If it's a matter of how she'll take it from you in particular, then have someone else make the offer." Lou ran her hand over Moofum's fluffy tail, paying attention to the cat and not looking at Jeff. "I'm sure Scott's right about the flight in Thunderbird Two; if it's anything like Thunderbird One, it's meant for work, not comfort."

"True, it is." There was quiet for another space, then Jeff brightened. "Oh, by the way, Brains goes out to see your friend Dr. Macias in a couple of days for that little interview. He confirmed the appointment today."

Lou smiled widely. "Hey! That's great! I might send a message to her with him or something. I'm sure she's worried about me."

"You haven't talked with her or sent her a message lately? Ow wow! You got me good there, Spot!"

"No, I haven't. I don't want any of my friends or family to know exactly where I am, though that really can't last for much longer." She rested her hand on Moofum's back. "Jeff, you and I need to put our heads together and figure out what we're going to say to the authorities. Because sooner or later, I'll have to talk with them, and as much as I'd like to keep you and your family out of it, I don't see any way that I can."


	25. We shall see each other soon

_Author's Note:_ Renée finds some interesting information. The police are frustrated. Melissa and Scott connect. Alan and Tin-Tin still in Los Angeles. Jeff and Lou discuss their story. Penny calls a friend, then takes a stroll. Virgil continues his project. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

Renée lifted her teacup to her lips as she scrolled down the data pad she held in her hand. She had spent a few minutes during her rest breaks that day trying to track down the mysterious Natane. It wasn't as much of a challenge as she'd hoped for, especially since the only young American woman with that name in all of Unity City was employed by the World Government itself. 

"Hm. An undersecretary to the Vice President himself! Originally from Texas, former U.S. Military, cited for bravery and marksmanship during her service." She set the cup down in its saucer and smiled at the security picture that accompanied the file. "Lovely girl. Whoever is wooing her is a very lucky man."

She put the data pad down, and picked up both cup and saucer. "Now, who might her secretive beau be? Who in this city would romance such a lovely and not wish to flaunt her beauty? A married man? Is she the type who would play the mistress? My curiosity is not yet sated. I must look into this a bit farther." Smiling, she sipped her tea, and mentally planned her next move.

xxxx

"Janice?" Hugh Borg stopped by his partner's desk on his way out the door. "Come on, time to quit. The files will still be here tomorrow."

Janice glanced up, glaring at Hugh as he shrugged into a sweater. "I just know there's something here that we're missing!" She turned back to the screen, peering at it by getting up close. "We have a bullet coming from a gun that might belong to International Rescue, and we have their lead ship setting down at the jetport's heliport pad for a full ten minutes not long before the murder. Someone runs from the building to the Thunderbird, climbs aboard, and it takes off. Where did it go? Less than a half hour before that, it was reported in Los Angeles, where it seems to have dropped off a passenger. What's the connection?"

"Is there a connection?" Hugh said with exaggerated patience. "Look, Janice, we've been over this ground before. Just leave it for tonight, okay? Get a change of scenery and come back to it fresh in the morning."

Janice looked up to glare at him again, then sighed, her face crumpling into a rueful expression. "Okay, okay. I'm coming." She saved her files and shut off her computer. Hugh found her trench coat, and held it for her. She slid her arms into the sleeves, and pulled it over her shoulders. She fingered the fabric, lost in thought. Turning to Borg, she asked, "Did we ever get a lead on the guy in the plaid jacket? The one who brought Clarendon to the hospital?"

Hugh shrugged. "No, not really. Just the fleeting glimpses of the guy in the hospital security cameras. Whoever he was, he did a good job of staying off the radar, and out of range."

"Hm." Janice picked up her handbag. "I guess I'll go over Clarendon's statement in the morning; refresh my memory. Maybe see if there are any discrepancies when we question her again. We don't have a good reason for wiretapping... yet."

"True," Hugh admitted as they walked out. "But hey! I got a phone call from a detective down in Unity City. Name of Badeau... couldn't quite catch his first name. Wanted to share information, since our victim was a suspect down his way. I'll give him a call back in the morning."

"Hope he has some more pieces of the puzzle that actually fit," Janice grumbled as they walked out to the parking lot.

xxxx

"Hallo? Scott?"

Scott smiled at the face in the vidscreen. "Hey, Melissa. Thought I'd call to see how you were and how the kids did with going back to school."

Melissa sighed, and ran her free hand through her hair, bunching it up briefly into a pony tail at the back. "Oh, I'm all right. Tired, but that's to be expected. The children did well, enough, I suppose, though Quinn had a bad spot during the day. The teacher called me at the time, but we decided between us that he should stay an' face the consequences of his behavior. If he thinks I'm to come an' get him when he misbehaves, then he'll only do it more, or at least, that's what his teacher believes. I'll be putting them to bed early; they're still suffering from a touch of jet lag." She sighed again and let go of her locks. "An' I'm looking for work, which is never a joy."

Scott wracked his brain to remember what it was that Melissa had studied for. Problem was, whenever he'd visited with Peter in Unity City, she'd always been home with the children. Peter had been adamant that she be able to do so, and it seemed she'd agreed that she was needed at home.

"Uh, forgive me for being dense, Mel, but I forgot what you trained for," he admitted sheepishly.

"Beyond wife and motherhood?" she replied with a chuckle. "I trained as a radiologist, Scott. I tried the working mother route when P.J. was little an' found it not to my liking." Her voice dropped and became wistful. "Peter saw I was unhappy, an' together we decided it was better that I stayed home an' took care of the wee ones. We knew it wouldn't be easy, but it was right for us." She brushed back her hair. "I suppose I'll have to go back to school for a bit so I can learn the newest systems and be licensed an' certified again. But to do that, I'll have to have some sort of income, so I was looking for a waitressing position..."

"Whoa! Whoa there!" Scott said firmly. "Waitressing? Uh-uh. No way. If you need to go back to school, go. You wait on the job hunt until you're done with what you need to do for radiology. Don't worry about the money; it'll be there for you, especially once we get Pete's will through probate." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Pete didn't tell you this, but... he was doing some work on the side for my dad. Transporting people, packages, that kind of thing. Dad gave him a monthly stipend for the work and... well, you have more money than you might think." _Gotta find a way to get that stipend to her without her thinking it's charity... or that Dad actually owed Pete some back pay._

Melissa frowned at him. "He was working for your Da? I guess that would explain a few things - like how that Mrs. Baptiste knew who Peter was and all." The creases between her brows deepened with her frown. "But... why didn't Peter tell me about it, then?"

Scott's mouth opened and closed a couple of times. "I - I don't know, Mel," he sputtered. "Maybe he didn't want you to think he couldn't make a living with just the cab."

The deep frown faded into a hurt expression. "That doesn't make any sense, Scott. He did very well with the cab. I saw the accounts; he didn't need a second job." When she saw Scott's confused look, she added, "Not that working for your Da is a bad thing, but I'm sure he would have told me."

"Well, that was the only reason I could think of. Maybe when we see the will..."

"I suppose it doesn't really matter." Melissa said wearily. "My Da... he's to come down here in a few days with his lawyer..." She sighed heavily again. "Would you be available?"

"When is he coming?" Scott pulled his PDA out, ready to put down the date.

"Three days from today."

Scott's eyes widened a bit, but he put down the date. "I'll tell my father right away. I'll be there, Melissa; don't worry."

"Thank you, Scott." Melissa sounded very relieved. "I don't think I can face my father alone, not now."

"I'll be there," he replied firmly. "Count on it."

"Then, I will."

xxxx

"So, do you like it?"

Tin-Tin glanced down at her left hand, then back up at Alan, smiling widely. "I love it!" She turned the bracelet around on her wrist. The gold charms jingled a little as she did so. "Thank you for buying it for me."

"Well, I saw you turning the charms display around while we were waiting for the jeweler," Alan said with a little shrug. He tucked her hand under his elbow as they crossed to the waiting limo. "I haven't bought you much jewelry and this... just seemed right. After all, the jeweler said that the ring will take a month at least. Hand-designed jewelry is worth the money and the time."

"I hope your father will allow us to come back when it's done."

"I'm sure he will."

The chauffeur opened the door and Alan handed Tin-Tin in, then slid into the car after her. The door shut behind him and the chauffeur slid into the front seat.

"What do you think? An early dinner, then a show?" Alan slid his hands behind his head as the limo pulled out and into traffic. "We've got at least another night before we have to leave."

"Do we?" Tin-Tin snuggled up against him.

"Of course!" Alan dropped an arm around her shoulders. "Dad will want us well-rested for the trip home."

"Then your suggestion sounds lovely," Tin-Tin said, smiling. "Though I do feel a bit guilty. After all, John's waiting for us to return."

"True," Alan admitted. "But we have to stay until tomorrow morning anyway. I wrangled an appointment with that wedding planner Kenny mentioned. Maybe we can decide on a date over dinner." He reached for her face with his free hand, caressing gently along the jawline and, with a finger under her chin, angled it up toward his. He planted a soft kiss on her lips, then another, and a third.

"Oh, Alan," she murmured, her eyes opening after the last kiss. "Let's forget the show and dinner."

Alan laughed. "If that's what you want. We'll go back to the hotel... and order in."

xxxx

"I thought we'd agreed that you'd be staying on for a while," Jeff said, his face creasing into a frown. "Why are you worried about what you'll tell the authorities?"

Lou hunched her shoulders up and slightly inward, tensing the muscles, then letting them relax with a tired sigh. "I know what we agreed on, and I'm not going back on that. But the more time that passes without my giving a statement of some sort, the more time the police have to find and interpret the evidence left behind – and interpret it with the worst possible scenario in mind, I might add."

"We left as little evidence behind as possible," Jeff replied. "Paul helped us with that."

"Still, he's no police officer; he's not going to know every trick of the trade." She drew her legs up, wrapping one arm around her knees. "For example, did you dig the bullets out of the walls?"

He started a bit, upsetting the cat on his lap, who glanced up at him before jumping down. "No, we didn't. Why? What kind of evidence could they garner from a smashed, spent bullet? It's not like our guns are registered anywhere. There's no rifling pattern on file for them to compare to."

"But they've been used before, haven't they?" Lou asked, using her free hand to continue stroking Moofums. Spot padded over to her and gave her a good sniffing, and the two cats exchanged greetings over Lou's slippered feet. "Gordon was telling me that there was a gunfight at some point..." Her voice trailed off as she removed her arm from her knees and scratched Spot's head.

"Yes, that's true." Jeff sounded troubled. Spot, now satisfied that she knew the score at the door, turned and padded back to him. She jumped back up onto the side of the tub and gazed at Jeff with wide, yellow eyes. "Do you think that there might be some identifying marks?"

Lou nodded. "Yes, I'm sure of it. If any of the guns used in Portland were used elsewhere, they'll be on file, very likely in Interpol's database. They might not have," she crooked her fingers and waggled them a bit, "'bullet from gun used by International Rescue' on the file because they simply can't prove it to the satisfaction of a court. But there'd be some mention of their suspicions. And you better believe that the police in Portland will be asking for, and getting, that information."

"Damn." Jeff ran a hand through his hair from his forehead back. "I'll have to check with the boys. I'm almost sure of Gordon's ordnance, not so certain about Scott's. Mine... definitely not."

"Gordon... he's involved in this up to his neck, too," Lou said. "He should be helping us plan this." She let her knees drop again, and crossed her legs at the ankles. "We do have a couple of things working for us. I can't tell them for sure who killed Franks, and neither can Shelley. The night when I woke up it was foggy..."

"Low cloud ceiling. Made it easy for Thunderbird One to get in unnoticed." By this time, Spot was back in his lap, and he was absently scratching her ears. "You weren't out more than... oh, four hours."

"Okay, good. We can work with that. That and the fact that you flew up to Portland from New York on a corporate jet the next day." Lou nodded as she considered the scenario. Moofums, finally satisfied with the attention she'd been given, padded off to the feeding station. "What's the set up like on the helijet pad? Where's it located?"

"It's at the top of the tower, in the center. The pad itself is recessed within the very top floor," Jeff said slowly, trying to describe the situation. "There's a communications center on the left as you're looking at the front, with the control center, pilots' area and helijet hangar on the right. It's covered by an irising dome, designed to keep the pad free from the weather."

"So, how does a craft get inside?"

Jeff huffed out a breath, one that sent Spot to the floor again. "Whoever's on duty in the control center will open the dome. Of course, the controllers usually know when a helijet is due to arrive. If there's no one scheduled, the pad is usually left unmanned."

Lou frowned in puzzlement. "Then how did Thunderbird One get in there?"

Jeff smiled. "Remote codes. Thunderbirds One and Two both have them, but only One can actually land. Two would have to lower whoever was getting off in the rescue cage." He stood and stretched, giving Spot, who had jumped up to the edge of the sink, a last stroke. "I hope you're satisfied, Spot. I think I've been tenderized enough today."

Lou started laughing, and drew up her knees again as Jeff stepped past her and back into the playroom. He offered her his hand, and she took it, letting him help pull her to her feet. He pulled hard enough to draw her close, and wrapped his free arm around her waist. "May I have this dance?" he asked with a grin.

She smiled, looking down for a moment. Her cheeks colored slightly as she met his gaze again. "There's no music."

"Who needs music?" He bent his head down slightly, intending to plant a kiss on Lou's slightly parted lips. Suddenly, his wrist comm beeped. Not one to leave undone what he had started, he kissed her, then withdrew his hands from her hand and waist. Putting up an index finger, he said, "Hold that thought," and answered the call. Lou stepped back, then turned and padded over to the cat tree, where Snowball lifted her head and yawned at her mistress's touch.

"Jeff here." His response was curt. _This had better be important._

"Dad, it's Scott." Scott's face, looking grave, appeared in the tiny screen. "Something's come up and I need to speak to you about it immediately."

"What is it and why can't it wait?" Jeff's irritation sounded stronger to Lou's ear, and she glanced his way.

"It has to do with Pete Riordan's will, and my upcoming trip to Unity City. Things have changed and I'm going to have to go sooner than expected." Scott had noticed his father's tone, and tried to make his own conciliatory. _Won't do to rile the old man when I need to ask for time off._

Jeff glanced at Lou, who mouthed the word, "Go," and made shooing motions at him. He stifled a sigh, and moderated his tone. "All right, Scott. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Scott smiled, relieved. "See you then, Dad."

"Jeff out." He shook his head and let out the sigh he'd suppressed. "I'm sorry, Lou."

"For what?" she asked, smiling. "You have work to do and so do I." She drew near, and put a hand to the side of his face, reaching up a little to kiss him lightly on the lips. "We can't play all day, y'know."

"And for once, I'd like to," Jeff admitted. He took her hand and put a kiss in the palm. "You're good for me that way."

She dropped her gaze, and gently pulled her hand away. "You'd better go. Scott's waiting."

"Right."

She walked him to the door of the playroom. Spot, seeing him about to leave, came to the door of the bathroom and let loose with a loud, "Mayow!"

Jeff chuckled. "Same to you, Spot." He paused before opening the door. "See you at lunch?"

"Yes, of course," Lou replied with a nod.

He nodded and smiled in return. The door swished open and he stepped through. Spot made a dash for the opening, but was virtually tackled by Lou before she could get too far outside. "Oh no, you don't!"

The tortoiseshell cat complained as her mistress brought her back inside, squirming and twisting to get out of Lou's firm grip. An outstretched foot headed off Midnight, who had trotted over to see what was going on. Then the door closed fully, and Lou let Spot down. The skinny cat bounded off to the bathroom once more.

Lou sat down on one of the carpeted benches. Midnight joined her, his loud call for attention accompanied by rubbing his head against Lou's thigh. She reached out to scratch him behind his ears.

"Well, Midnight, we've got a bit of a problem, don't we? Instead of being a help, it seems we've become a distraction."

xxxx

Penelope folded up her phone and placed it carefully on the vanity. She had just finished a call to her friend, the Rev. Keziah Bozeman, an Anglican vicar, and had much to think about.

"I'm sorry, Penelope," Keziah had said, shaking her head, her expressive brown eyes giving her a troubled look. "I have three faithful parishioners who are at the gates of Paradise. I must stay here and help usher them through, then console those left behind. I cannot come to Foxleyheath right now."

Penelope had sighed, almost inaudibly. _Oh, dear. Who do I turn to now? Tin-Tin's not here, and she would be more than a little biased... _

In the swirling midst of Penny's internal musing, Keziah had moistened her full lips, and added, "However, if you do not mind that my pastoral duties come first, you could perhaps come here for a few days..."

Stunned, Penelope had blinked several times, at first from sheer surprise, and then to forestall tears of relief. "Oh, Keziah, that... that would be marvelous. Are you sure it's not an imposition?"

Keziah had chuckled, her laughter deep and throaty. "Penelope, you are always imposing, but never a burden."

It had taken Penelope a few frantic seconds to unravel her friend's wordplay; when she had done so, she smiled. "There are those who would disagree with you on that score, Keziah. There are some who have seen me cut a less than imposing figure, and my ex-colleagues at the Bureau found me far from impressive as well."

They had laughed together, and Keziah had asked, "When can you come?"

"I shall have to ask my host when he could spare someone to fly me, but I should think within the next day or so." Penny had sighed, this time loudly. "For once I shall be glad to be quit of this place. Paradise on earth, some would say, but not now. Perhaps not ever again."

They had spoken further, making plans, until Keziah had yawned. "Oh, I am so very sorry, Keziah!" Penny had said. "I had forgotten the time zone difference. I shall call again when I have my itinerary."

"I forgive you, my friend. Good night, Penelope. We shall see each other soon."

Now, with the phone call over, Penelope felt the need for fresh air, and a cigarette. She picked her cigarette case, holder and lighter from the dresser, slipped a cardigan on around her shoulders, then stepped out onto the balcony. Parker, she knew, had gone down to the vehicle repair bay to give FAB-1 a high polish. _Jeff mentioned sending us to Foxleyheath in Thunderbird Two so FAB-1 would travel with us. If I choose to go to Johannesburg, I will not have that option._ She put her cigarette in the holder, and slowly maneuvered the lighter's flame to the end. The first puff was sweet, and she relaxed a little.

Tucking her silver equipment into a cardigan pocket, she strolled around the balcony, coming up eventually on the wider expanse that overlooked the pool. Glancing down, she was surprised to see the water placid; Gordon wasn't swimming. On further investigation, she noticed Virgil sitting beneath the crossbeams of the redwood arbor, an open computer resting on a small, mosaic-topped table before him. He seemed to be typing, an activity that she had not seen in a very long time. His actions intrigued her, and despite the voice warning her she wasn't ready to discuss matters with him, she found herself descending the curved stairway to the pool.

"Good morning, Virgil," she called, sounding very nonchalant. She noticed that she'd startled him, but his surprised expression melted into something more pleasant... and wary.

"Good morning, Penelope," he replied politely, his fingers tapping out a few keystrokes. He stood as she approached, and by the time she arrived at his side, there was a weather map of the region showing on the screen.

"A project for your father?" she asked, waving her hand toward the computer, scattering a few ashes in its direction.

"No, not really," he said, gesturing to the seat beside his. He reached over to another small table, where a heavy marble ashtray rested (put there by Kyrano when Parker informed him of Milady's needs), and offered it to her. "Just something to satisfy my own curiosity."

"Why not use the voice software?" She took his offering with a nod, then sat gracefully in a nearby lounger, crossing her legs at the knees, placing the ashtray on the flagstones beside her. "I should think it would be much easier."

He sat back down, closing the laptop cover firmly. "Easier, perhaps, but I'm already teased enough about talking to myself when I paint. I don't need to look like I'm doing so while I... work."

The emphasis put on that last word told Penny that her curiosity about Virgil's project – which was growing every minute – would not be satisfied as yet. She took a draught on her cigarette holder and blew the smoke out with a gentle breath. She glanced around at the pool area, so quiet, unlike the day she arrived and found an _al fresco_ barbecue going on.

Virgil, for his part, found his attention focused on the woman at his side, though he felt awkward in her presence. _Strange. I usually can read her better than this, but that cigarette holder... it blurs a lot of her body language._

"I shall miss this place," she finally said, sounding melancholy. "It's so set apart from the hustle and bustle, and I have often found that very refreshing."

"That's true enough... except during a rescue," he rejoined. Cocking his head at an angle, he gave her a look of curiosity. "Why will you miss it? You know you're always welcome here."

She turned her gaze on him, finding those little things in his features that marked him as Jeff Tracy's son. Things that might once have intrigued her now just irritated and grated on her. Smiling thinly, she made a little humming noise. "I know I once felt welcome here, and, in the future, might feel so again. But at this moment, I do not. A fifth wheel, as they used to call it. Your father," she tried hard to keep her tone neutral over those words, and only barely succeeded, "has chosen another, and though I had no real claim to him, I did have hopes." She lowered her voice, failing this time to keep the hurt and anger concealed. "Hopes that he has dashed like crockery on the stones."

Virgil made a sympathetic noise. _I'm glad Father seems to be finally letting go of his grief, but I wish it wasn't at Penny's expense._ "I'm sorry things have fallen out this way, Penelope," was all he could think of saying.

"You need not apologize for your father's actions," Penny replied coolly. Her cigarette was finished, and though another would be a welcome distraction, she was determined that she controlled this renewed habit and it did not control her. So she put the holder on the table next to the laptop to let it cool.

Virgil cleared his throat. "Maybe not, but I have my own actions to apologize for. Especially those on the plane from here to Bongo-Bongo." He shook his head, but Penny held up a hand.

"I am not yet ready to discuss that particular matter with you, Virgil, other than to say I forgive your timing." Her voice was firm, but suddenly she smiled with sly humor. "However, I will accept your chastisement at Parker's hands as appropriate punishment for that breach of manners."

"Gee, thanks." Virgil rubbed his jaw, a rueful expression on his face.

Penny chuckled, then grew sober again. "I understand that I am to travel home in Thunderbird Two so that FAB-1 can be delivered to Foxleyheath at the same time."

"That's what I heard last, yes." He sat back, elbows on the chair's arms, his fingers loosely laced over his abdomen. "We're just waiting on Alan and Tin-Tin to get back. Dad wants us as close to full strength as he can get." He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. "There's also the issue of Thunderbird Five and getting John down. Alan's the one going back up there."

"Ah, true." She twisted her fingers a little, realized she was doing it, and laid both hands in her lap. "I have been invited to visit an old friend in Johannesburg, and would like to leave rather sooner than your father might consider convenient." Glancing over a shoulder at the wide balcony, she asked, "Do you know if he is in his office?"

Virgil shook his head. "As far as I know, he's not. He was headed for the Round House when I saw him last." He looked at his watch. "That was... oh, about an hour ago."

"Visiting with Mrs. Myles," Penelope said flatly. She tamped down hard on the urge for another cigarette.

He nodded slowly. "Very likely."

They sat quietly for a few long moments. Finally, Virgil opened his computer again, angling it so that the screen was turned from Penny's view. "I hope you don't mind...," he said, indicating the laptop.

"Not at all. Please continue with your project."

He smiled at her, and began to type again. She leaned back, fixing her eyes on the cloud-sketched sky beyond the sturdy redwood beams. A soft sea breeze rustled the palm leaves behind the arbor, and ruffled his hair. She wished she'd put a scarf on to protect her coiffure as a wisp was lifted by the moving air.

At last she pulled out a cigarette and reached for the holder, still sitting on the table beside the computer. It rolled out of her grip, dropping to the stones. Virgil leaned over to pick it up, and looked at it carefully before handing it to Penny. "What made you start smoking again?" When she opened the lighter, he put out a hand with an unspoken offer, one she accepted. Once her cigarette was lit, he returned the lighter, and she sat back with a small smile.

"I missed it," she replied.

Glancing beyond her, he noticed Jeff climbing the stairs from the pumice path to the Villa's lower level. "Dad's back."

"With or without escort?"

He gave her an encouraging smile. "Without, actually." He paused, then added, "No time like the present."

"I think I shall finish this first," Penny told him. She flicked ashes into the tray beside her.

"All right. Why don't I tell him you want to speak with him?"

Penelope smiled warmly. "That is a very kind offer, Virgil. I would appreciate it very much."

He returned the smile, then, standing, he waved an arm. "Dad! Hey, Dad!"

Jeff stopped, turned and waved back. Virgil trotted off to catch up, calling to his father as he went.

Penelope watched him go, and settled back into her lounger while the two men talked. Her eyes fell on the abandoned laptop, and she considered it thoughtfully. _What project could possibly be so secretive that Virgil will not use an easier method? Dare I look?_

The temptation was taken from her hands when both Virgil and Jeff approached. "Virgil says you needed to see me, Penny?" Jeff asked courteously.

"He is correct. I have been invited to a friend's home and therefore have a favor to ask regarding my departure and method of travel from here." Penny crushed what was left of her smoke into the ashtray, and removed it from her holder.

"Well, then, come up to the lounge. Scott, it seems, has a travel related dilemma as well. Perhaps between the three of us, we can work something out."

Jeff offered his hand to help her out of the lounger, and she took it. Once she was on her feet, she turned to Virgil, who was back at his computer. "Thank you, Virgil, for listening, and for intervening. I appreciate both of your efforts."

"You're welcome, Penelope. Will I see you at lunch?"

She glanced between father and son, then smiled. "I think I may forgo my seclusion and have my luncheon with the family. So, yes. I will see you again, then."

Jeff offered his arm, but Penny clasped both hands firmly behind her back, and Jeff ended up putting his in his pockets as they strode across the patio to the stairs. Virgil watched for a moment, then opened the computer again, and pulled up the file he had been working on. He frowned at it. _I want this to go over well, but... it's not peppy enough! _He sighed and saved the file._ As much as I hate to admit it, maybe I'd better ask John's opinion._


	26. Hi there, handsome!

_Author's Note:_ Virgil chauffeurs the chauffeur. Alan and Tin-Tin set a date. Miss Hansa resurfaces. Someone cases the World Senate. Jeff and Gordon have a heart to heart. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and to her, Susanmartha, and Lillehafrue for being sounding boards.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. **This includes adding this fiction to C2 communities. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy,

Tikatu

* * *

"Are you comfortable back there, Parker?" Virgil asked. He didn't look back at his passenger, who was strapped into one of Thunderbird Two's crew seats. 

"Yus, Mr. Virgil. Ay h'am. Very comfortable." Parker tried looking out the wide windscreen, but all he saw was unending bright blue sky. He mentally went over his checklist again: land at Bongo-Bongo, drive FAB-1 to Sydney to catch the Skythrust non-stop to London. Then to Foxleyheath for a good night's sleep and a chance to clean FAB-1 before taking the back seat to the Rolls-Royce plant for reupholstering. After that, a mechanic friend of his with a deft hand at "unauthorized modifications" would help install the surprising little odds and ends Milady insisted on in back... such as the handcuffs built into the arm rest.

The thought of Bongo-Bongo, coupled with the presence of the young man before him, made him wince. While on the island, he had kept himself busy taking care of Milady, and helping Kyrano in the kitchen, avoiding Virgil Tracy as much as possible. Now there was an hour's flight to Bongo-Bongo, where Thunderbird Two could land undetected and disgorge the Rolls. It was time to say what needed saying – no matter how humiliating it might be.

"A-hem."

Virgil shifted his gaze from the instruments, turning his head as far to the right as he could. "Is there a problem, Parker?"

Parker took a deep noisy breath, filling his sizable proboscis. "Not so's much a problem, Mr. Virgil, as a matter between h'us." He hemmed and hawed for a moment, trying to figure out how to say what he needed without looking a right fool. Finally, he took another deep breath. "Wot Ay'm tryin' to say is... Ay was a bit 'asty-like wiv me fists the day we was last h'at Bongo-Bongo. And Ay h'apologize fer takin' a pop at you. Ay 'ope Ay didn't 'urt you much."

The pilot snorted a laugh. "You happened to hit me just about where my brother had a couple of days before. Made a few people wonder why the bruise hadn't healed up." He paused, and shook his head. "Apology accepted, Parker. I won't say I deserved getting decked with the old Parker Haymaker, but I certainly did need something to wake me up to my own stupidity. Seems that the Haymaker did the trick." He turned back to his instruments. "My timing couldn't have been much worse in that situation."

Parker nodded in silent agreement. He paused, then asked, his voice hesitant, "H'If Ay may be so bold as ter ask, 'ave you an Milady come ter an h'agreement on the matter?"

Virgil sighed. "Not really. She wasn't willing to discuss it, other than to say she felt my drubbing at your hands to be appropriate punishment." Pausing, he frowned. "I am puzzled, though. Why isn't she going back to Foxleyheath? And why Johannesburg?"

"Ay don't rightly know if h'it's my place ter say h'anything," Parker slowly replied. "H'Except per'aps ter say that she 'as an old school chum living there."

"Ah, okay." Virgil nodded, and left it at that.

xxxx

"But I don't want to wait until next year!"

Alan speared his asparagus with vigor, as if to punctuate what he had to say. He and Tin-Tin had spent some time making love on their return to the hotel, and were just now getting around to having dinner. Tin-Tin had her PDA open to a calendar, and they were trying to decide on a date.

"There's just not enough time to have the wedding at Foxleyheath this summer when the roses are in bloom, no matter how much money we throw at this," Tin-Tin argued, her brows drawn together in a frown. "And if we wait for fall or winter, it will look dreary. It so rarely gets snow before January."

Alan swallowed what he had in his mouth, and pointed his fork at his fiancée. "We could ask Brains to make snow, like he did that one Christmas."

She shook her head vehemently. "I wouldn't ask it of him. I'd feel it was like... rubbing salt into the wound."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and instead turned his attention to his fillet. An idea came to him, and his chewing slowed as he considered it. "Let's get this straight. I don't want to wait a year to get married. There's no way to have the wedding this summer, when Foxleyheath would look its best. If we're to have it in the winter, and in the Northern Hemisphere, you want snow."

"That's right," Tin-Tin said, giving him a calculating look.

Alan sat back and smiled. "So, why don't we say 'thanks, but no thanks' to Lady P's offer, and have the wedding where there's bound to be snow on the ground... and maybe some great skiing. Let's have the wedding at..."

Tin-Tin's eyes grew wide with startled comprehension as they finished the sentence in unison. "...Paradise Peaks!" She smiled widely. "Oh, Alan! That's a wonderful idea! I love it! Let's do it!" Looking again at her PDA, she asked, "What date do you think would work best?"

"How about the first Saturday in December?" he suggested. "It'll be after Thanksgiving, and not too close to Christmas. Do you think that'll be enough time to get things done?"

"It might be." Tin-Tin sounded thoughtful. "It will depend on the dresses, I would think. Hopefully we'll find this date open at the resort. If not, what should we choose as an alternate date?"

"That Sunday?" Alan shrugged. "Really, it doesn't matter to me as long as we have that snow, and it's before December 31."

Tin-Tin smiled, a sly look. "In time to file our taxes jointly?"

Alan, who'd been sipping his wine, sputtered with laughter. "Somehow, I don't think we'll be able to take the married couple's exemption." He put his glass down and stood, leaning over the table to reach her and planting a soft kiss on her lips. "The sooner we marry, the better I'll like it."

"We could always elope," she softly quipped, returning the kiss.

"No! No way! Grandma would have my hide!"Alan's eyes opened wide with shock and he shook his head vigorously. "She wants to see us marry and give her great grandchildren, _in that order_!" A grin spread over his face as he sat back down. "Still, I'll bet that _Dad _will wish we'd eloped by the time this is done."

"I think _we'll_ wish we had by then, too!" Tin-Tin said fervently. She looked at the PDA once more. "So, we have a date and a place to take to the wedding planner in the morning?"

"Yeah. I think we do."

xxxx

"Well, that's a sight for sore eyes."

From his desk, Jeff glanced over his reading glasses to where Lou was sitting. She had her legs stretched out, her feet on one of the coffee tables, and the laptop perched on her thighs. "What are you talking about?"

"That defamatory website, the one we hacked? It's down. Got a 404 error when I tried to access it."

"That's good news."

"It is, for the moment. They might just pack up and move to another service provider if they didn't have their own servers. I'll keep an eye out and see if they resurface." Lou closed the window that had the error message, and pulled up another. "However, one of the fan sites has gotten to the survivor of that rescue in Bangkok. She's given them quite an interview, including an interesting description of your Mole prototype."

"The Micro-mole." When Lou looked up with a questioning expression, he added, "Gordon named it at the rescue; he's insisting we keep the name and give the thing a paint job to contrast with the full-sized Mole."

Lou chuckled and shook her head. Jeff thought a moment, then asked, "Can you send me the address? I'd like to know what she had to say."

"Sure. Coming your way." Lou smiled, and her fingers tapped out a quick burst of syncopation. A small box appeared on his screen, asking if he wanted to receive an instant message. The name on it was a simple "208". He gave her a quick, wry look, which she returned with a playful smile, then he clicked on the "yes" button. The IM window popped up with the words, "Hi there, handsome!" in a fat, purple-tinted script, followed by an emoticon cat that stuck its tongue out at him. He chuckled, then a second line scrolled up with the address of the site. He clicked on the address, and a new window opened up.

"This looks pretty slick," he said as he skimmed the homepage. He found the navigation bar titled "Reports from the Field", and used his cursor on it. When he found himself faced with a world map, he clicked on the gold star that indicated where Bangkok was, and beside which a little red "NEW!" floated. The link took him to another page, where the interview's questions and answers were interspersed with pictures of the debris that had been the both the bank and the building across the street.

"Q: What was it like, waiting for International Rescue?

A: It was terribly dark and warm. The walls groaned, and I thought they might fall in on us at any moment. The only light came from Mr. Banyat's phone, and the only voice I heard was that of the man who answered the call. One of the other men called him 'Epsilon', but I called him 'Mr. Thunderbird'. He was so kind, and spoke to me at length, helping to distract me from the terrible position I was in. When the phone's batteries faded, I felt very, very alone and frightened."

"Sounds like John did a great job in keeping her occupied," Jeff murmured. Lou glanced up, but saw Jeff was himself occupied with reading, and went back to her surfing.

"Q: You said that there were two digging machines, one large and one small. What was the small one like?

A: I couldn't really see it very well, but it took up a great deal of the room we had. Though I didn't think about it at the time, it came up at such an angle that it could have drilled right through a wall. The driver must have been very good to keep it from doing that. I could see some colored lights within when the door opened; I would guess the door was on the side, like it was in the huge digger. What I could see of it was dull gray metal, not the bright yellow of the big one. The man who drove it said there was only room for one inside, so he couldn't take me with him. I wanted him to! I was so frightened! But he covered me with a blanket, and gave me air, and a radio, so I could talk to Mr. Thunderbird again. He also left a light, so I didn't feel so frightened."

Jeff glanced up. "It doesn't sound like she really got a good look at the Micro-Mole. She thought the hatch was on the side when it's on the top." He leaned back and tapped his chin with a stylus. "Gordon must have all but rolled out of that thing if she's credible. He didn't tell me that."

"There are probably lots of details that you don't get," Lou commented without looking up. "I've been reading through a few of the official logs, and I've got plenty of questions, many I'm sure can't be accurately answered after so long a time. Memories fade, or get confused. That's why your policy of having a debrief right after the rescue is so important."

"Even so, there are details that the boys remember later as they're writing their reports." Jeff continued to read even as he spoke. "This Miss Hansa remembers a lot, but mostly she remembers her feelings."

Lou put her laptop aside and rose, walking over to Jeff. "That's because these aren't trained interrogators, Jeff. They're amateur reporters, and they're looking for the emotions. In the hands of someone trained to ask questions, Miss Hansa would give up far more information than she even consciously knows she has." She hitched a hip up on the edge of the desk so she had her back to one of the supports and folded her arms. "And that's why this site is as dangerous as the defamatory one was. There are names, dates, ways to identify the people involved. And this is very likely how Tom got most of that information he gave me. If he'd been at it a little while longer, he might have blown your cover entirely." Unfolding one arm, she extended her hand, palm up. "That smear website has an agenda, and will be looked at askance by most people _because_ of that. This site's agenda is information, and it will be treated as an authority of sorts."

Jeff snorted a breath, and gave Lou a long, searching look. "What do you propose we do? Send a cease and desist?"

She frowned and looked down, arms folded again. "I'm of two minds there. You don't want to look like the neighborhood bully, pulling down all the sites and spoiling everyone's fun. But... you also don't want to leave yourself open to the kind of investigation that would lead to outing the family." Shaking her head, she sighed. "Let me think about it some more. Do you have any legal consultants for IR?"

"Yes," Jeff said, nodding as he tapped the stylus lightly on the desktop. "When I first got this idea, I asked a couple of lawyers, international ones, old friends of mine and trustworthy. I made them agents, and consulted them on how to do this so we'd be legal... or as legal as we could be in this world." He dropped the stylus on his desk, and laced his fingers together. "Obviously we can't fulfill every little rule and regulation of every single country, but we've managed to keep from breaking too many laws."

Lou looked up at him, her face reflecting her troubled thoughts. "I don't think you've been as successful as you think, Jeff. As we discussed earlier, IR may not have been directly, _criminally_ implicated in a couple of episodes – that business in the Anderbad Tunnel being chief among them – the evidence left behind was probably very incriminating. And in those episodes, people died at the hands of your operatives. Your _sons_." She paused, and the quiet between them grew, until finally she softly added, "It's the reason why I want to keep your family clear of this incident in Maine, because I don't see any way at all to keep IR out of it. And why I want to help you keep IR secret – and your boys safe."

Jeff said nothing for a long moment. "Anderbad was self-defense," he finally said, his voice rough. "And a rescue. Penelope would have died if the boys hadn't taken action."

"I know that," Lou said, gazing at him and nodding slightly. "But how would it look to a judge and jury? How would it look to the world?"

A quiet clanking sound made both of them turn their attention to the other end of the room. Gordon had just closed the grillwork door, and was on the steps from the study. He glanced over at them and smiled. "I'm sorry if I interrupted you. I was wondering, Dad, when we could get together and discuss the agents... and that offer you made."

Jeff and Lou exchanged a look, and Lou shrugged a little. "No time like the present," she said.

"I agree." Jeff sounded relieved. "We can finish this discussion later."

"Yes. I do need time to come up with a plan to deal with those fan sites." She slid off the desk and went back to the sofa and the laptop. With a few quick keystrokes, she was ready to go. "I'll talk to you later, Jeff."

"Sure."

Lou slipped out onto the balcony, settling into a lounger there. Jeff dipped into the files behind his desk, and came out with a folder. He brought it with him as he joined Gordon on the sofa, sitting right where Lou had been a few moments before.

"So," he said, opening the folder and pulling out a copy of the sheet he'd given Gordon when he'd made his offer. "Let's take a look at these operatives."

xxxx

The World Senate building was never truly empty, though after a certain hour, it did become quiet as it was closed to the general public. The politicians often worked into the night, negotiating, reviewing, delaying, expounding, obfuscating, and generally getting on with the business of lawmaking. Select pages and secretaries stayed, as did a cadre of security officers, and of course, the janitorial staff. So no one commented when a smartly dressed young woman, a secretary in the Vice President's office, entered the building before it closed.

The junior senator from Great Britain ran into the young woman in the senators' powder room. She smiled and greeted the secretary, who was now dressed in the drab khaki of the cleaning staff. The cleaning woman – for that's the assumption the senator made – said nothing in response, and seemed to be unaware of the politician's existence. The older woman sniffed in mild derision, and went about her business as the secretary-turned-janitor left the restroom.

Once in the hallway, the young woman headed further up into the building, seeking out the quiet stairwells, climbing until she had reached the level above the gallery balcony. She used her ID card to give her access to a restricted stairway, one that took her up beyond the ceiling of the Senate chamber and into the world of lighting and audio hook ups. She opened a door to where a long row of bright, slightly tinted halogen spotlights shone down on the Senate floor. Since the open legislative sessions were covered live on televid no matter when they were held, a good lighting system, one that could illuminate individual senators as they spoke, was essential.

The secretary eased her way along behind the bank of lights, her shoes making no noise. Occasionally she would crouch to peer out between the spotlights, focusing on the main podium. She watched as the various lamps shifted, noting which ones were most frequently aimed at the Senate's President _pro tempore, _who was at the podium, presiding over the evening's session. At last, the young woman finished her reconnoiter, and headed downstairs. In the powder room, she changed back into her smart business clothes, folded her janitor's uniform into a tiny parcel, tucked it in her jacket pocket, and left the building by the front door. She walked two blocks before a sedan pulled over, and a rear door opened.

"Natane."

The one word was enough to catch her attention, and she got into the car willingly. As the car pulled out into traffic again, the other passenger retrieved the uniform from her pocket, slipping it into a briefcase at his feet.

"Now my dear, take a deep breath and close your eyes. When you open them, you will remember only that I called for you after work, and we are going to dinner."

Natane obeyed, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. When her brown eyes fluttered open, she looked vaguely disoriented for a moment, then saw her companion and gave him a brilliant smile.

"So, my dear," Carlos said, returning the smile. "Where shall we go for dinner?"

xxxx

"I'm glad to see that Paul's staying the course," Gordon said, "though I don't blame Atlanta for pulling out. She and Lee are trying to start a family and their jobs are dangerous enough." He put aside the list he and Jeff had been going over.

"Speaking of Paul," Jeff interjected, "we have to do some damage control on our visit to Maine. Lou is certain she'll have to speak to the police at some point or other, and she wants us all to have our ducks in a row regarding how we got to Portland and why we were there." He picked up the list and put it back into the folder, then leaned back, crossing his legs at the ankles. "She thinks that perhaps you could say you were in Maine visiting Paul, which would account for the JT-1's presence the day this all happened."

"What about the hospital?" Gordon asked. "I did my best to avoid being filmed, but I'm not sure I was entirely successful."

Jeff sighed. "In that case, you fall back on a version of your original story: you found Shelley Clarendon in her car, saw she was hurt, and brought her to the hospital. Then you waited around to see how she was doing. In this case, Paul would have been the driver, and came back for you later. You can leave Virgil's friend out of it entirely."

"I see." Gordon nodded slowly. "I'll talk with Paul about it, let him know what's up. He might come up with something better." He let out a sigh. "I guess this all ties in with what I wanted to talk about."

"I'm listening," Jeff said, fixing his gaze on Gordon's face.

Gordon stood and paced back and forth a little before his father, gathering his thoughts. Finally, he sat down again with a sigh.

"Ever since the episode in Maine, I've been having trouble with my role in IR. We're a rescue organization, dedicated to saving lives. And... well, I've come to realize I've taken more lives in the line of duty with IR than I ever did when in WASP." He spread his hands. "In WASP, it was different; it was the military, and I knew that there was a possibility I'd have to kill someone. I never had to, but it was expected, and I was okay with that."

He glanced at his father, who nodded slightly as if to say, "Go on," and "I understand," at the same time. "I do understand that, by saving Dr. Borrender and Lady Penelope, we were stopping a crime. And by saving Aunt Lou and her sister, we were keeping our secrets out of enemy hands." He frowned, uncertain. "But why us? Why did we have to get involved in the first place?" Shaking his head, Gordon continued. "The saboteur in the Fireflash... well, we didn't expect him! He shot first, and if my bullet didn't kill him, the fall from the plane certainly did. But more and more, I feel like we've been acting like FBI agents, or police officers, and that's not what International Rescue is all about. Or, at least, that's not the way I look at it, anyway."

"That's an interesting thought, Gordon," Jeff said, trying to keep his voice and manner neutral. A pause, then he asked, "Is there anything else bothering you?"

Gordon nodded. "Yeah, I guess there is." He looked down at his hands for a moment then raised his gaze to meet his father's. "Don't get me wrong; I do love what I do. When I'm piloting Four, it's all I could want, all I could have wished for when I was thinking of becoming an aquanaut. More than that, actually. But," here he sighed again, "I find myself yearning to get away from the island, to meet more people, to maybe earn that lazy playboy rep I've gotten living at home with Dad." He smiled, and Jeff smiled back, acknowledging the little joke. "Out of all my brothers, I'm the one who never went on to college, never got a degree. I followed in your footsteps that way, Dad, choosing the military right out of high school, getting right into the action without the classroom work." He shrugged. "Sometimes I wonder if I've missed something there."

A deep breath, and he plunged in with his final say. " What I'm trying to say is: I can't continue in IR if I'm going to have to get involved in these... these police actions. And, I want the time to go to college, to have a social life away from the island." His voice lowered. "I want to drop out of International Rescue."


	27. Let's talk about it now

_Author's Note:_ Sorry this took so long. Jeff gets a shock. Scott makes preparations. Jeff and Gordon make plans. Kerr has interviews a leader. Fernando can't sleep. Thanks to Lillehafrue betareading and for being a sounding board.

The character of Berenora, and the events he relates are from the comic book story, "The Trapped Spy", written by Alan Fennell. Published first in _TV Century 21_, issues 112 through 117, February 25, 1967 through April 15, 1967, and reprinted in _Thunderbirds the Comic_, issues 4 through 6, December 13, 1991 through January 10, 1992.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this fiction without my consent. I may be reached at my email of record. If you add this to a C2 community, please let me know. _Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy.

Tikatu

* * *

Jeff froze mid-breath, stunned and shaken. Even after all the lead up that Gordon had been giving to that inevitable decision, it still shocked him to hear the words. He must have looked as stunned as he felt, for Gordon was suddenly sitting beside him again and had one hand on his shoulder, and the other on his wrist, two fingers feeling for his pulse. He turned to see an intense, concerned expression on his son's face. Suddenly, he could breathe again, and he gulped air.

"Are you okay, Dad?" Gordon gave Jeff's shoulder a firm squeeze and a minute shake. "You looked pretty pale there for a minute."

Jeff drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, then moistened his lips and gave his son a weak smile. "I'm... I'm okay, Gordon." A small nod, and Gordon let go. "I was half-expecting something like this, but it's a shock to actually hear the words, if you know what I mean."

"Maybe we should talk about this later..."

"No." Jeff ran a hand through his hair, and shook his head. "No. Let's talk about it now, get it out into the air. See what we can do to accommodate you... and maybe find a way to minimize the impact to International Rescue."

xxxx

Scott hummed a little as he worked. He'd offered to load Thunderbird Three for its flight to Five, an offer that had surprised Jeff when he made it.

"No reason for John to stay up top for any longer than necessary," he'd explained. "This way, Alan can get his rest when he returns, and we can make the run as soon as he's ready." _And I can be on my way as soon as I get back,_ he thought.

The cargo bay was now filled with the non-perishable items: dry foods - vacuum-packed for easy storage, round water tanks that would be switched for the used and much filtered water on board, medical supplies, an assortment of replacement parts that Brains expected to be exchanged and upgraded during the next month, paper goods, and a variety of smaller items that were normal for the trip to Five. Perishable foods, sealed and cryo-frozen, would be loaded at the last minute, the portable cryofreezer plugged into Thunderbird Three's power grid.

Scott moved the last of the water globes into its slot, his whistle ending abruptly with a grunt as he applied pressure. It clicked into place, and he smiled. "That's the last of them," he murmured as he checked it off on Three's manifest. "This will give us a good head start."

xxxx

"So, you think Paul would be a good man for Thunderbird Four?"

Gordon nodded. "Yeah. He's had the same WASP training I've had; he's had to keep up his diving certification. As part of the Coast Guard, he's had rescue experience. Is still fit, too – he has to be for the Coast Guard."

"Sounds promising." Jeff made a note on his data pad. "What about family? Wife and kids? Elderly parents? Any entanglements I should know about in advance?"

"Y'know, that's something I hadn't thought about." Gordon frowned, looking pensive. "If he has those kinds of 'entanglements', would you remove him from consideration?"

"I don't know, son. I used to think that I could take on a family man as an operative, but after Peter Riordan... it's hard to say." Jeff shook his head. "I guess it would depend on what the situation is. And I would have to know to prepare appropriate housing, should he decide to take the offer." He recalled what Lou had said, and smiled. "Our villa's big, but it isn't the Biltmore."

"The Biltmore?"

Jeff chuckled at the confused look on Gordon's face. "Huge mansion in North Carolina, not far from where Lou used to live. They have a very nice winery."

"Oh." Gordon's face cleared somewhat. "Did you visit it while you were at Lou's?"

"No, though I'd have liked to if certain events hadn't happened. But Lou did serve me some of their wine." Jeff looked back at the data pad. "Now, back to the subject at hand: Paul and possible family entanglements."

"Right." Gordon paused, thinking hard. "Paul's estranged from his parents, but he's mentioned a sister. They'd be likely to turn to her if they need care in the future. And I know he was between partners when I visited last..."

This brought his father up short. "Partners? What exactly do you mean by 'partners'?"

"Well..." Gordon colored a little. "You see, Paul is bisexual. His last partner was a man, but he's had women, too." His father's eyes widened, causing Gordon to huff out a breath. "Dad, he's my _friend_. Nothing more, nothing else. When it comes to romance, I like women. End of story." He rose to his feet and folded his arms. "You can't let Paul's orientation stand in the way..."

Jeff put up a hand. "Easy, Gordon. Paul's orientation isn't an issue. I was just... surprised, that's all." He shook his head. "I've been a businessman long enough to realize that a person's orientation has nothing to do with their suitability to do a job. My only reservation with Paul is how your brothers might see him."

"Hm." Gordon rubbed his chin, then held out a palm. "Do you really think any of them would have a problem?"

"What do _you_ think?" Jeff asked, eyebrow raised.

Gordon sat back down. "I never thought about it before. I always figured they'd react the same way I did. But maybe not." He sat quietly for a little bit, then began slowly. "I guess Virgil would be okay with it, and probably John, too. Alan... I guess I'm not as sure about him. Or about Scott either. I mean, his military experience..." He glanced at his father. "What are things like in the Air Force, Dad? Are they accommodating of people with different genders?"

"More than they were in my day, according to Tim Casey," Jeff admitted. "But from the comments Scott has made lately, I'm not sure he is, personally."

Nodding, Gordon let out a sigh. "I think you may be right, Dad." He shook his head slightly. "It's so easy to assume everyone in your family believes the same way you do on a subject, especially if you don't really talk about it." He shrugged. "It's not an issue with our work, though. For any of us."

"Very true. And it should never be." Jeff tapped on his data pad. "How do you want to handle this? In person or via secure email? Should I make the invitation, or do you want to?"

"I'd like to personally make the invitation, if that's okay with you, Dad. It'll give me a chance to see the college I'm interested in, too." He paused, giving his father a keen glance. "Dad?"

Gordon's serious tone made Jeff take special notice. "Yes, son?"

"If I had told you that Paul and I were lovers, what would you have said?"

Jeff blew out a long breath and passed his hand through his hair again. "I don't know, Gordon, I really don't. I'd be shocked – make that very shocked - to say the least. But who you love is up to you, and I hope – at least, I think – I'd be able to accept it. Might take a bit to get over the initial jolt, though... much like getting over the one you gave me a few minutes ago." He faced his son, his mien serious. "The one thing I _do_ know is that you'd always be my son. Nothing would change that."

Gordon nodded, and smiled slightly. "That's what I figured." He squared his shoulders, mentally dismissing the previous subject. "So, when do I leave?"

"You would ask that," Jeff groused. "It depends on when Scott gets back from Unity City. We have a lot of comings and goings and I can see that all these transitions are going to increase them." He stood, and went over to his desk. "I'll pencil you in for a week from tomorrow. In the meantime, get hold of Paul and let him know you're coming."

"Consider it done, Dad."

xxxx

The day had waned, and John was moving from "on duty" to "off duty" status. He never really changed out of his uniform until he was ready for bed – changing into civvies made for too much laundry and putting on his pajamas so early felt odd. He did, however, take off those things that made him feel most official. Sliding his sash off over his head, he hung it up in the tiny cubicle he called a closet. The hat joined it, and in a few moments, the boots as well. He stuck his feet into a pair of athletic shoes, and pulled the ends of his shirt from his trousers.

Stretching, he touched the ceiling, his hands flat on the cool metal. He could feel his shoulder joints pop a little, and hear the shifting of his vertebrae as he pushed upward. "Could use a little time with the weights," he murmured. Being alone in the station, he'd developed the habit of talking to himself. Occasionally he'd pick up the threads of a conversation in a language he knew and would follow them, interjecting his own commentary, needing the diversion and at least the pretense of a dialog. For the most part, however, he was comfortable with his own company, especially now, when he was under pressure to finish updating his first book... and feeling the inspiration to create his next.

He shuffled through the dozen or so prepackaged meals left in the cryofreezer, looking for something that appealed to him. His ultimate choice made him wrinkle his nose and sigh, but he popped it into the warmer anyway. The galley was just big enough to walk in, turn around, or squat down. Narrow stainless steel cabinets, counter tops, and drawers lined both sides; the cooking and cryonic units were built in. He opened the cryofridge and pulled out two cold drink pouches, both lemonade this time. Sipping from one, he leaned up against the counters as the scent of Kyrano's cooking filled the tiny space. At last the warmer signaled it was through, and he picked up a silicon mitt to handle the heated, recyclable tray. A quick rummage in a drawer brought out a fork; he added that to his pile and brought it out to what was optimistically called, "the lounge".

John set his tray, mitt and all, on the adjustable table, then settled himself in one of the leather-covered recliners. It, like almost every piece of furniture aboard the station, was bolted down – the exception being any pieces which had to move; those had magnetic grips to keep them in place should the gravity generator fail. However, the recliners could be moved back and forth on a set of tracks, and both the chairs and the table could be automatically raised or lowered to more comfortable positions.

This he did now, sliding the recliner forward, raising the table to a suitable level not only for eating, but also for using his laptop, which lay closed beside his steaming meal. It would be easy to use the station's computers for writing; they possessed a huge amount of processing power and archiving space. But the laptop was portable; any changes he made went with him, and password protected so he didn't have to worry about Alan poking around.

He opened the computer, and used one hand to maneuver through its windows while he speared a morsel of food with the other. "Check email first," he muttered before putting the food in his mouth.

Opening up his primary email account revealed a number of missives. "Let's see. Two from my publisher... an email from Brigitte." He smiled. "Save that one for last. Hm... looks like some fan mail directed from my publisher's account... and something from Virgil? With an attachment? Hmm..."

He shoveled in another forkful of food as he opened the email. Virgil wrote: "Hey, John! Could you look this over when you have a minute? No rush, really, I'd like your opinion, and if you find any spelling or grammar issues, let me know. Thanks! Virgil".

"Grammar and spelling issues?" John took a sip of his drink and frowned. "What _is_ this?" Curious, he opened the attachment and began to read.

xxxx

"So, Mr. President, what about this man who tried to kill you?" Eddie Kerr sat up straight, giving the gentleman on the other end of the connection his full attention. It was after eleven at night on the US west coast, but early afternoon in the tiny Baltic country of Bereznik. "I understand he was wearing an International Rescue uniform."

President Ustin Berenora frowned, the furrows in his craggy face deepening. He was middle-aged, his dark, wavy hair turned silver from just above the temples to his neck. He had been feared as the military dictator who ruled Bereznik with an iron hand, but now, two years after his encounter with International Rescue, he was the democratically-elected president of his country. "It is true the man who tried to assassinate me wore International Rescue's colors..."

"So, they tried to assassinate you?"

Berenora raised a thick eyebrow and continued as if Kerr hadn't spoken. "But not only did they warn me of the attempt, the man in the uniform admitted to being one of Colonel Toblosk's secret police. They imprisoned the operative that International Rescue dispatched to discuss their plan with me, taking his uniform as a disguise."

Kerr did not look pleased. He paused for a moment, looking over his notes, then shifted in his chair. "All right. Then what about this Toblosk? He was a trusted member of your government, wasn't he?"

"At one time." The president sat back, lacing his fingers together just below his chin. "After International Rescue saved my daughter and rescued their operative from Toblosk, documents and witnesses were found that proved Toblosk was a traitor. He wished to set himself up in my place as leader of Bereznik. He knew what I had planned as far as the future of our country's governmental structure was concerned. With him in power, those reforms would not have come to pass."

"But didn't International Rescue kill him?" Kerr looked at his data pad once again. "By... let's see... firing a missile from Thunderbird One?"

"We conducted a thorough investigation of the matter, Mr. Kerr, and even called in Interpol's terrorism directorate. The eyewitness testimony clearly showed that they first fired a missile at the cell where their operative was being held." Berenora's eyes were half-lidded, and there was a touch of impatience in his voice. "Once they had pulled the operative from the cell, Toblosk's men shot at him as he dangled below the lead Thunderbird. To stop the shooting, another missile was fired. This one, unfortunately, was aimed at Toblosk's office - as it was from there that the shots were being fired." A small, knowing smile played around the President's lips. "They did me – and my people – a very great favor, Mr. Kerr." He stretched a hand out in Eddie's direction. "But I am sure you have all this information already."

Eddie kept his face and attitude professional. "Just trying to fill in the gaps, Mr. President." He scrolled through his notes again. "What did Interpol have to say in the matter?"

Berenora tapped his fingertips together twice, then steepled them where Kerr could see them. "Perhaps you should ask them, Mr. Kerr. As far as I recall, they saw no flaws in our investigation."

"Ah, I see." Kerr paused, then asked, "And what about the attack at the harbor? Thunderbird One attacked two gunboats...?"

"The gunboats were guarding their small submarine; I believe it is called Thunderbird Four. It was needed to rescue the spy at the Russian border, and I had no time to call the vessels off." Berenora tapped his fingertips again. "As there was minimal damage and no loss of life on the gunboats. I was – and still am – prepared to overlook it." He frowned slightly at Eddie, then sat straighter in his chair. "I am puzzled, Mr. Kerr. Why you have not asked me how International Rescue saved my Katania's life, and the lives of all who were with her?" He raised an eyebrow again, this time as if in challenge. "Perhaps you have... how do you say it? An agenda?"

Kerr paused, considering the man in front of him, wondering what Berenora would do if he said yes. Then he smiled. "You're right, Mr. President. I haven't asked. So, how _did_ International Rescue save your daughter's life?"

xxxx

Fernando sighed and sipped his wine again, looking out over the lights of the harbor from his home's terrace. A slight breeze rustled through the palm fronds above his head, stirring the ends of his dressing gown and bringing the scent of the sea to him. He breathed deeply and let out another sigh. He had been restless all evening, without knowing why, and that growing uneasiness had kept him from sleeping. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, he rose and poured himself a glass of wine, taking it and the bottle out to the terrace. This was now his second libation, and still he was not sleepy.

He raised his sights a little, and gazed off beyond the harbor to the sea, letting his mind wander in the cloud-covered darkness. The breeze intensified, making the rustling of the palms louder. And somehow, in their susurration, he thought he heard a word, repeated over and over: "_traidor_". He shook his head sharply, bringing his wandering attention back to the here and now, dispelling the illusion. Frowning at the product of his imagination, he took a large gulp of the wine.

Turning back toward his house, he finished emptying the glass. Filling it again, he sipped as he moved back inside. There was a storm coming; he could smell it, could feel it, and Fernando wanted to be safe, sheltered and sleeping when it hit.


End file.
